


Once Upon a Time

by AriaDream



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Grail War, Seriously dysfunctional magi family, Sigurd is sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-15 03:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriaDream/pseuds/AriaDream
Summary: Sigurd is summoned into a Grail War and his Master needs him more than he could have dreamed. Her talent is as rare as her situation and he is determined to save her, but what will stand in his way? Sigurd/OC, Sigurd/Brynhildr (because of course I would have to write about Sigurd)





	1. Chapter 1

_Once upon a time there was a little girl._

_No one noticed when she was sad. No one noticed when she was happy. That was because there was no one there to see. But she was good with numbers and worked hard on them to make the people who weren’t there happy. It made her happy to know they were happy, even if they weren’t there to see._

_Such a lonely little girl._

* * *

 

_Once upon a time there was a big girl._

_She was good with numbers and people wanted her numbers, so she gave them freely. It made her sad, sometimes, that no one seemed to see anything but the numbers. But the numbers made everyone happy and that was enough._

_Still lonely, but not as lonely as before._

* * *

 

_Once upon a time there was a young woman._

_She was good with numbers but it wasn’t enough anymore. She wanted more. She wanted to meet people, to know people, to find a man who wouldn’t mind the numbers. But they didn’t want her to go. They wanted her to stay and give them the numbers and she did but she was less happy about it. And very, very alone._

_Such a lonely young woman._

* * *

 

_Once upon a time there was a princess in a tower._

_She got tired of people taking her numbers and not giving anything in return so she stopped giving them what they wanted. She became a demanding princess, insisting that she go where she could meet people, know people, find a man who wouldn’t mind the numbers. So they told her she was a demanding princess and locked her in a tower so she would have to give them the numbers, or else. For a while she tried not to but then she found out what or else meant and gave them the numbers again. She’d always thought they didn’t care if she was happy, but now she knew._

_Such a lonely princess in a tower._

* * *

 

_Once upon a time the princess became a Master._

_Numbers dug into her skin and they hurt but they were so beautiful. She could see the numbers that made up what they were and wanted to be part of numbers bigger than any she had ever had before. So the Princess accepted the pain and summoned her Prince to rescue her from the tower. He would take her far, far away and she would never have to give up her numbers again. And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t lonely anymore._

_Such a hopeful princess, still locked in her tower._

* * *

 

 _I must win this Grail War,_ Sigurd thought grimly as slowly moved closer to his prey. He was expertly using the bushes and trees for cover, taking his time and pausing whenever the back of his neck started to itch. That was where his Master had implanted a tiny piece of gold filigree, a rune of such beauty and power that Sigurd's pitiful mind could not begin to comprehend it.

 _Stop that. When he the war is over I’ll teach you my numbers if you stay,_ her soft voice whispered through his mind and Sigurd's lips quirked in a small smile even as he concentrated on his final task.

 _I have a decent head for numbers, princess, but not like that,_ Sigurd thought back and felt her disagreement. She might have said something but then he froze as a powerful itch hit him. Sigurd had to restrain himself with iron will from scratching as his Master whispered strange incantations in his mind. The itching eased again and Sigurd relearned how to breathe. This was quite a nerve-wracking task.

He was almost there though. Almost, almost, and Sigurd wasn't after a Servant today. He was after a well defended and capable Master. The Servant he held was a rare monster so it was imperative that this man die.

 _How is the distraction holding up?_ Sigurd asked mentally as he finally reached the little cabin in the woods. This was the hardest part... his Master whispered back, her mental voice as soft and meek as her physical.

 _Good. We'll go harder now._ Perfect. They needed maximum distraction now. If the Master employed a Command Seal and summoned his Servant, the assassination attempt was done.

The Master didn't get the chance. Sigurd's dagger took him from behind, right in the base of the neck. The man, hardly better than a boy, died instantly. Sigurd felt a bit of disgust at himself but it quickly died. His Master needed him like... like Brynhildr had, trapped behind her wall of flame.

 _Rider is very angry but already disappearing. Archer is laughing,_ his Master reported and Sigurd nodded, unsurprised. Archer had a cruelty to his nature and enjoyed seeing the mighty brought low. _Please come home._

"Right." Sigurd said aloud. Their alliance with Archer had ended with Riders' defeat. It was time for him to go back to his Master and the mystical fortress that was also her prison. As he left the cabin behind, Sigurd felt his iron determination once again. He'd gone through a wall of fire to free a Valkyrie. Now, Sigurd would tear down a tower to rescue a princess.

A fitting task for a hero.

* * *

 

If Sigurd had to use a single word to describe his master, it would be soft.

Soft in appearance, with her fine brown hair and rounded face. Soft spoken, sometimes to the point that he had trouble making out her words. Soft hands and soft body, touched by very little exercise, like a true noblewoman. And most of all, soft brown eyes that revealed a gentle and retiring soul.

Those soft hands were a pure pleasure as they gently rubbed his neck, easing the ache of the rune and the tension in his muscles. Sigurd surrendered himself to her attentions with a sigh, reflecting that he was enjoying this a bit too much. And yet, it was so wonderful, to have the attention of a woman again.

"Are you feeling better?" His Master asked and Sigurd lazily opened his eyes to see her gazing at him with concern.

"I am fine. Do not worry about me, Esme," he assured her. Truly, her concerns were needless. Sigurd knew pain - oh, how he knew - and the implants and enchantments Esme touched him with were only annoying. Her concern deepened as a soft hand caressed his cheek.

"I worry that you won't tell me if something is wrong," she said almost inaudibly and Sigurd admitted, to himself, that it was a valid concern. "Please, you must tell me if anything hurts. That could mean you're rejecting," Esme said, her voice strengthening. Sigurd nodded. “If you're feeling better, it’s time for supper."

"Mmm, yes." Sigurd looked forward the food but not the meal. The way the dishes wafted in, and the knowledge that it was untouched by human hands, was disconcerting. So were the grim reasons behind it. But his Master needed encouragement to eat. Esme had the appetite of a bird and her figure was far too thin.

Sigurd sat up, stretching for a moment before standing and glancing around. This enchanting room would not have been out of place in his own castle, made of dark stone and furnished with warm wood. The window was softened with golden draperies that could be tightly closed to block the light. Leaving the room they began to walk down a long, winding staircase. They would have to go down six levels to reach the dining room but there was no choice in the matter. The enchanted servants would not serve food anywhere else and if they happened to miss the set times, no food would be forthcoming. Sigurd wondered how often his Master had gone hungry. It was fortunate he’d arrived back in time for the dinner service.

The dining room, again, took Sigurd back to his castle… it was a beautiful room with tapestries on the walls and a huge dining table that could easily seat a lord and his whole family, including cousins, aunts and uncles. It was terrible sad to see a small slip of a woman taking a seat alone at this table. Sigurd resolutely took a seat across from her.

The fact that they were both seated, and the time, triggered the serving. Apparently her captors had anticipated that they would sometimes come to visit their princess, because Sigurd’s presence brought out a second dish. They wafted in, carried by nothing but air, before settling neatly in front of them both. Hmm, today was a beef sandwich, neatly sliced meat on a crusty roll with a small salad on the side. Sigurd waited patiently and a small basket of condiments soon came out, settling on the table between them. He took the mustard and spread it on the bread, as his Master took the ketchup. As he ate, Sigurd kept an eye on her. Esme was prone to pick at her food. Sure enough, she took a few tiny bites before setting down her sandwich, using the fork to stir the salad while gazing away.

“Master, stop thinking of your numbers and think of the food instead,” Sigurd said firmly and she blinked before blushing. Mumbling sorry’s, Esme took a forkful of the salad and began to eat. Sigurd mentally shook his head as he went back to his food. He was sure his Master had been starving herself. And why wouldn’t she, if the food didn’t interest her?

 _I have to get her out of here, and remain by her side._ It meant making a different wish than the one he’d intended but Sigurd had no illusions. Breaking the curses that kept her chained here was only the first step. Then they needed to flee and hide, avoiding the ones who would drag her back. And while Esme had the ability to save herself, she might lose the will for it, as the loneliness overwhelmed her. _I’m sorry Brynhildr._ Sigurd’s wish had been to see her again but the dead would have to take second place to the living. And was he seeing that?

“Master, please stop doodling with ketchup on your napkin,” Sigurd said wearily, feeling like a nanny. Why was it so hard to get his princess to eat?

“Oh I’m sorry I just had an idea…” Yes, but she had those all the time, couldn’t it stop for a moment? Fortunately she picked up her sandwich again. That was the important part, if she could get even half of it inside her he’d be satisfied.

When they were done she had indeed managed half of it, to Sigurd’s relief. And he had an idea for what they could do next.

“Would you like to dance with me, princess, before I must go?” Sigurd asked with a smile and saw soft brown eyes light up.

“Oh, I would love to!” Yes, dancing and music were her great delights, aside from her numbers. Although they were all intertwined… to his Master, music and dancing were made of numbers and timing, the things she excelled at. The great ballroom was up two floors and as they walked in, his princess started the music. Sigurd was not a great dancer but still took delight in it, as he twirled her around the floor. The brilliant smile on her face, the joy in her eyes, made his princess beautiful.

Sigurd would give her this pleasure before he had to leave her again.


	2. Chapter 2

Her name was Esmerelda von Solms-Heinberg, but she preferred to think of herself as Esme Adler.

_Adler is a fine name. That is the name I will take when I am free of this place,_ Esme dreamed as she patiently waited for her hero to awaken. Sigurd needed his sleep. Sleep cleared the mind and sharpened the senses, even for a Servant and Esme could see that in his body when he awoke refreshed. It was in the structure of his numbers, the way they were better arranged and cleaner.

To Esme, the whole world was made up of numbers. She could perceive them, reach out and manipulate them, changing the world around her. And yet, she could only work small, incremental changes… unless she created a mystic code. Those were her true Numbers, the great works she made simply by staring at the raw materials and forming them into what they were meant to be. Not that it was effortless! Far from it. Creating her Numbers was incredibly draining, leaving Esme exhausted, sore and without an appetite.

_I do still need to eat though,_ Esme thought with a miasma of guilt. She wouldn’t have been guilty until Sigurd had come into her life. Then, food had just been something to keep her body alive a bit longer in this hell. Now, though, there was hope and with hope, there was meaning. And meaning meant she had to really try.

When Sigurd came out of his room he was fully dressed in his armor. For a moment, Esme was dazzled when she looked at him. Not by his hair, his armor or even his handsome face. No… what captivated her was his breathing. Every inhale he took, every exhale made his mana core shift. It was a living thing, like a heart, but in tune with Sigurd’s breathing and he breathed out magic, completely unaware. If Esme looked she could see it like little tendrils wafting through the air, iridescent and shimmering and blue –

Then she blinked as a hand touched her shoulder.

“Princess?” Bright green eyes, framed by crystallized wisdom, look at her in concern. Esme blinked again as she collected her thoughts.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Esme rose to her feet, feeling terribly embarrassed. She always did that, lost track of the ‘real’ world. It was a terrible habit, it really was. Sigurd was stoic as always but Esme could see the way the energy that made up his body bobbled, a silent laugh. He offered her an arm and she took it, blushing.

“Do not worry, princess. You just have to be in time for breakfast,” Sigurd said and Esme looked up at him with a small. He was so much taller than her, she was looking up all the time. But that was fine, her Servant made her feel warm and safe.

Esme reflected on it as they walked down the stairs to the dining room. Sigurd made her feel safe. His dedication to getting her out of her prison was terrifying – Esme would admit she was afraid of the world she had never seen – yet exhilarating. Because Esme thought they could really do it. They could get out of here together. And yet, what then?

_We will need to run, as fast and as far as we can,_ Esme knew. She actually knew her situation much better now, thanks to Sigurd. His information came from the Grail system and it included the nature of magi society, the Clock Tower and the departments therein. So Esme knew what the people who pretended to be her family were up to and why they would stop at nothing to have her back. _If only I hadn’t been so eager to show them my numbers._ But she had just been a little girl, wanting to be noticed and loved. How could she have known?

Setting that aside – it was over and done with – Esme settled into her spot at the table. Dishes floated in, then a large pot and Esme winced. The wind elementals and automata that prepared the meals were usually very good, but for some reason the one thing they could not cook well was porridge. And since she had no access to them, Esme had no way to fix that.

Sigurd seemed indifferent to the quality of his food, gazing away as he ate, his gaze focused on something she could not see, something only within his own mind. Esme glanced at him occasionally as she forced down the gluey porridge. He was so… so everything…

_Don’t be silly. He is far too grand for you,_ Esme thought, forcing herself to focus on the porridge. _And he is in love with someone else._ Brynhildr, the tragic Valkyrie. Esme hadn’t known anything about her Servant’s history at all – she’d summoned without a catalyst – but Sigurd had compared her situation to Brynhildr’s and Esme had asked. It had caused him pain but Sigurd had related the story. _I know so little of anything._ She only knew what her family had given her access to. _Sigurd will help me._ Thanks to the Grail he knew about things like _automobiles_ and _computers._ Esme didn’t even know what they looked like.

That thought made Esme a bit sad, though, because she knew it was very unlikely she would ever find a man who didn’t mind her numbers. She had discussed it thoroughly with Sigurd and he thought that while her family would be desperate to retrieve her themselves, if they couldn’t, they would get the Clock Tower to make her a _Seal Designation._ That meant another prison and Esme would not be chained again. So magi society was barred to her and how could any _normal_ man accept her numbers? And even if they could, how could she get close to them when she might have to run at any time?

_Sigurd will be with me. Sigurd will always be with me._ That thought made Esme feel warm inside. Sigurd had vowed to remain with her forever and keep her safe. Her… her faithful knight. Yes, that was right, he was her faithful knight, helping her from the darkness and into the light. _I am so happy!_ Even now, before the war was won, she was so happy to not be _alone_ anymore.

“You’ve done well this morning, princess.” Huh? Esme blinked, recalled from her thoughts and realized that she’d finished the porridge. How odd, she hadn’t even tasted it! Well, perhaps it was better that way. “I should be going.” Sigurd rose from his seat and Esme was reminded of something she wanted.

“Sigurd, please leave your glasses,” Esme said and Sigurd looked startled before frowning.

“No, absolutely not,” there was a chill in his voice but Esme was undeterred, pressing her hands together and gazing at him hopefully. “You remember what happened last time!” Yes, she did. Sigurd had given her his glasses, secure in the knowledge that wearing them would only give her a massive headache. He’d come back hours later to find that Esme hadn’t moved a single muscle, locked in position as she gazed at her Numbers through the lens of crystallized wisdom.

“I’m not going to wear them, I’m going to modify them,” Esme said, hoping Sigurd wouldn’t find that even more objectionable. The glasses belonged to him after all. “I have an idea…” And the crystallized wisdom would be amenable to modification. Despite being fixed in the form of glasses, it was closer to a raw material than a lot of the things she worked with. Sigurd hesitated before reaching up and carefully removing his glasses.

“I trust you, princess. But don’t give in to temptation and put them on,” he warned and Esme nodded. It had been a marvelous experience and she secretly wanted to do it again, but that was simply no good. She needed to be ready to help her Servant, her head couldn’t be lost in the clouds. The glasses were cool against her fingers and Esme looked at them, seeing the beautiful structure that made up what they truly were.

“I promise, I won’t. I have to watch over you,” Esme said with a smile and that eased Sigurd’s concern. He nodded, stoic as always but Esme could see his relaxation in his numbers. It was so wonderful, being able to see her Servant’s feelings in his body… Esme smiled to herself as they parted, taking the glasses to her workroom. Seeing numbers like that didn’t work with real people, their bodies were too full of numbers of their own. But Sigurd was made of pure mana and that made his numbers easier to understand.

Gently setting the glasses on a stand, Esme stared at them intently, examining their structure. She needed to work as hard as she could. This could provide Sigurd an edge, and they needed everything they could get.

For herself and for her Servant, Esme would give everything she had.

* * *

 

Sigurd knelt on the edge of a roof, examining a nearby building. It was a tall building, many stories and very large. A hotel? Almost certainly, judging from the size and the taxis that came and went regularly. Was this where Archers’ Master was hiding? Sigurd slowly released a breath. It went against the grain, to turn on an ally, but Archer was not an honorable man.

But it wasn’t for today. Archer might still have his uses and Sigurd wasn’t ready to eliminate him yet. Turning away, Sigurd felt his cloak of invisibility rustle, caught by a breeze. As he did a small smile quirked his lips as he remembered the first time he’d shown it to his Master. He’d put on the cloak, expecting her to be amazed as he vanished. Instead, his Master had just looked at him and asked what it was doing. It seemed his cloak did nothing to hide his ‘numbers’.

_And she thinks I can learn her numbers,_ Sigurd thought in amusement as he leapt from roof to roof, following another promising lead. _Only Odin himself could comprehend such things._ Yes, Sigurd had learned the runes and was fine enough to be a Caster but that was not enough. _Odin hung himself from the branches of Yggdrasil for his knowledge, while my princess walked through the roots._ If she had lived in his time, what would have happened to her? Sigurd thought he knew… Odin would either have arranged her death, or taken Esme to Asgard, fed her an apple of immortality and married her off to a lesser god. Then he could use her as a resource, like the head of Mimir. And knowing his princess, Esme would have given Odin everything he desired for a pat on the head.

That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth – curse those pieces of refuse that Esme called her _parents_ – and Sigurd thought about it no further as he began to carefully scout his next target. Speaking of piles of refuse, here was another one. A damned dump, Sigurd picked through it carefully, trying not to reveal himself with his footprints.

_Sigurd stop,_ Esme’s voice whispered through his mind and Sigurd froze in place. _Turn your head a bit to the right please?_ Sigurd moved his head slowly, scanning the ground of the city dump. _Stop. Right there, that’s a Servant._ It looked like a pile of garbage and compost to him. Sigurd didn’t doubt his Master for a moment, though.

_Can you analyze it?_ Sigurd asked as he took a careful step back. The garbage shifted, as if it was stirred by a wind, but Sigurd knew better. He froze again as his Master was silent for a moment.

_The numbers are so strange but I think that’s Berserker._ Well, shit. Sigurd had hoped to fob the duty of fighting THAT off on someone else. _Sigurd, I know his name._ She did? _He’s repeating it over and over, so strongly it’s written in his numbers… but who is Gogmagog?_ He had no idea. _I think he’s trying to remember. He’s losing his mind._ Sigurd thought it was already lost. This was a Berserker, after all. Sigurd took another cautious step back –

And lost his footing as the whole ground seemed to quake. He vaguely heard his Master’s cry in the back of his mind as a gnarly hand erupted from the filthy ground and encircled him. Sigurd gasped as it squeezed – such strength! He could feel it even through his armor – and flung a blade directly into the head rising from the ground. There was a titanic roar and he was flung away. Sigurd caught himself nimbly and landed on his feet and a hand, ignoring the way the filth splattered against his legs and armor. His other hand was full of his second blade as he fixed his gaze upon his enemy.

“It seems you are fated to die today, Gogmagog!” The giant suddenly gaped at him in an almost comical way, revealing stained and broken teeth. “Sei!” Sigurd shouted before hammering the Berserker with his blade. Gogmagog howled before lifting his fists. Sigurd leapt agiley to the side before they slammed down, setting garbage flying in a small hurricane. “Pfagh!” Sigurd muttered as he barely avoided a paper to the face. He was going to smell like a sewer by the time this was over!

Gogmagog, though, was typical of a Berserker. He fought with speed and skill but there was no strategy, nothing but a mad rush at his opponent. Sigurd took quite an opposite strategy. Aware of the dangers of such a large and strong opponent he used all of his speed and skill, rolling and ducking, weaving and jumping to avoid every strike. Sigurd bided his time, launching small and fast attacks as he waited for his chance to end the giant.

The chance came when Gogmagog lost his temper, as a Berserker was wont to do. Enraged by his small and nimble opponent the giant tossed his head back and roared, spreading his arms widely. The roar was actually a Noble Phantasm and hit with the power of a small hurricane, pelting Sigurd with refuse filled wind. But he refused to fall back, bracing himself as he lifted his sword.

“Demonic Sword, ready. Let me show you the manifestation of mysteries. This is the dawn of destruction. _Bolverk Gram!”_ Sigurd shot forward, bringing his sword in for the kill. It was all over in an instant, as he slammed his fist into the hilt of the blade and shot it directly into the Berserker’s chest. Ugly, googly eyes went wide and that mouth gaped open again before the beast fell like an ancient tree, hitting the ground with earth-shaking force.

_It fought without reason and died the same way,_ Sigurd thought to himself as he wiped a bit of sweat off his forehead… oh. That wasn’t sweat, that was something… slimy that smelled like onions. “Bloody hell,” Sigurd muttered to himself. That was utterly disgusting.

_Sigurd, please come home,_ his princess whispered and Sigurd nodded. He was done for the day. Not because of his hurts, although they existed, or the mana drain, but because of the stench. He was covered in rotten slime and an invisibility cloak did nothing at all to conceal a scent. Sigurd pulled it on anyway, grateful that it was a noble phantasm that did not pick up grime. Then he headed on his way.

Rider and Berserker were down. Four more Servants stood between Sigurd and the Grail that would be his own.


	3. Chapter 3

The tower his princess lived in had many floors. Each floor had only a few rooms, dedicated to related things. On the dining floor were the kitchen facilities, where invisible sprites prepared meals. On the music floor was the music room, where all the instruments were kept, and the grand ballroom with a great stage for musicians. On the sleeping floor there were seven bedrooms. Why seven? No one knew. The library floor held many reading rooms… and a shockingly denuded library, ransacked long ago. The books left were a ramshackle collection of fiction and basic magecraft. And as for the bathing floor, well…

_One thing this place has is beautiful facilities,_ Sigurd thought as he rested his arms on the stone edge of the pool, letting his head fall back into a custom headrest. That headrest was above a smaller pool of water, designed like you would see in a salon. Small, soft hands gently worked lather into his hair, removing the stench and grime. _I probably shouldn’t be letting her do this for me._ Yet, Sigurd enjoyed it too much to refuse. It brought him back to the days in his castle, when he had servants and handmaidens to attend to his needs.

“Is everything feeling better?” his princess asked as she lifted a small nozzle and directed a stream of water at his hair, removing the lather and every speck of dirt. Sigurd lazily opened his eyes, gazing up into her concerned face.

“Yes, it’s fine now,” he said before reaching up to pat her hand. “It was nothing to begin with, princess.” Just a few broken ribs. Really, that was nothing. Her hand caressed the back of his neck, checking her implanted rune.

“That’s good. It seemed rather weak,” Esme murmured and Sigurd nodded in agreement. She began to gently massage his temples, which was a great pleasure. “It must have been a monster from a story that got summoned as a Servant. Not even the mad enhancements could make it strong enough.”

“Hm, yes.” That sounded likely to him. “Must have been a regional story of little note,” Sigurd said drowsily. If Fafnir were summoned as a Servant he’d be infinitely fiercer than that! “Well, all to the good. I was worried about Berserker.” They could be so damned unpredictable and the fact that they killed their Masters actually made it worse. After all, what did the Master have to lose? Speaking of which. “Wonder what happened to the Master.” That was concerning, that person still had to be alive. Esme was silent for a moment.

“I worry about that too. How weak it was… it might have been killing it’s Master slower than usual.” Sigurd opened his eyes with a frown. Esme took the non-verbal cue with ease, taking her hands away. Sigurd pulled himself out of the headrest before settling down in the water up to his neck. Ah, so hot, it was bliss.

“Could be right. We’ll have to watch out for that,” Sigurd said, reflecting on it. If the Master of Berserker was still about they’d need to steal a new Servant. Hell, trading in the Berserker card for anything else would be a step up. “Although at least we’re immune.” One positive to his princess being trapped in her tower was that it was a demon-damned deathtrap. ANY Servant who dared intrude was utterly, completely doomed. Any Master was doomed even faster. _There is a reason we need the Grail to free her from this accursed place._

“Unless someone can cut your connection to me from outside,” Esme said softly, gazing at him with intent eyes. Sigurd blinked at the thought. Could that even be done? “If that happened, I would have no way to get you back.” A chill ran down his spine at the thought. “Be wary of Caster.” …

“Is this an omen, my princess?” Sigurd asked softly and Esme closed her eyes for a moment, as if seeking something inside herself.

“I… don’t know… but I think it is. Oh, I’m done with your glasses,” Esme changed the subject, which was frankly a relief. “I have them right here?” She pulled them out of her pocket and offered the glasses to him. Sigurd accepted his crystallized wisdom, looking at it curiously. It was mostly unchanged except for tiny, almost invisible etchings in the frame and what looked like little snowflakes in the corners. Examining those snowflakes, Sigurd found they were complicated beyond belief… just like a real snowflake. (he’d examined snowflakes before through his glasses. Incredible things)

“What does it do?” he asked, loathe to put them on in the bath. They’d fog right up. Esme smiled before explaining.

“They let you see the kind of things a Master sees, the nature of the opponent you face, their power levels, things like that.” Ah, excellent! “It’s based on seeing the numbers so it might look odd at first, but you’ll get used to it. It only works on other Servants.” Hm… get used to it… Sigurd frowned. How long would that take? “You can try it out tomorrow night and get a feel for it. Archer wants another alliance.” Oh did he now?

“His Master got in touch with you then,” Sigurd murmured to himself. Archer’s Master no doubt thought he was dealing with a cowardly young girl and they’d done all they could to encourage that mistake. “Heh.” Sigurd had a feeling that Archer would try to assassinate his Master. A small but very wicked smile curled his lips. It would be so pleasant if Archer fed himself to the tower, it really would.

“Mmm hmm, through the crystal. I hope he hasn’t realized its’ nature,” Esme murmured and Sigurd shrugged. If he had, that would point directly to the Numerology department, the fucking poseurs. They weren’t supposed to be in the Grail War so it would be odd but Sigurd couldn’t see how it would cause them problems.

“It’s not like he’s going to report you to your parents,” Sigurd said and was amused as his Master bit her lower lip. “Is that really what you’re worried about? Truly, he’s not going to send a protest to the Clock Tower!” That would be like admitting failure and the man surely wouldn’t do THAT!

“I just can’t help but worry. If my parents realize I have you they might alter the tower,” Esme said and Sigurd knew she had a point. Right now, he was safe from the tower because of the contract. It registered him as part of Esme’s magic and therefore, a non-issue. If the tower could be altered to exclude him, Sigurd would be in mortal peril. And yet. “Still, I think that kind of fix would take weeks.” Yes, indeed. The tower was a freakish accident in the first place and her parents had just inherited it, not made it. “Well, I should leave you alone for a while. Let me know when you’re done?”

“Yes, my princess,” Sigurd said instantly and had the pleasure of seeing her go a bit pink. Esme left the great bath and Sigurd sighed as he stretched out, letting himself float on the water. Such a large pool and the magics kept it nice and hot. They also constantly cycled and purified it, so it was always ready for a bath. If only such a thing had existed when he was alive…

When he had his fill of the bath, Sigurd pulled himself out and found a fluffy towel, drying himself off. That was the other reason Esme had left, so she wouldn’t accidentally see him naked. They’d already made that mistake once and his poor Master had gone beet red before bolting and nearly slipping on wet tiles! Sigurd smiled fondly in remembrance. Ah, such an innocent maiden.

Materializing his clothing and armor, Sigurd picked up his glasses and set them on his face. Hmm, no difference yet. He’d have to wait to examine Archer tomorrow. Sigurd looked forward to it, he was sure he would see something fascinating. Leaving the bathroom behind, he went to search for Esme.

Sigurd found her in the music room. His princess was sitting in front of a piano, gazing away dreamily as her hands moved easily over the keys. Sigurd closed his eyes for a moment as just listened to the music. Was this something she had memorized, or original, something of her own? Sigurd knew it could be either.

_I might like to learn to play an instrument,_ Sigurd thought as he opened his eyes, turning his gaze to the walls. Instruments were neatly displayed there, silver and gold, things he knew and things that were completely alien to him. _If we succeed, I will have the time._ He’d never wished for a second life before and didn’t really want one now, but Sigurd would do it for his duties’ sake. And if that was so, he’d take the opportunity to do things he’d never done before.

The music could go on forever, though, so Sigurd cleared his throat. His Master started, her notes falling into disarray before she looked at him with wide eyes.

“I’m done with my bath,” Sigurd said gently and Esme blushed. Embarrassed that she’d forgotten the world again? Likely, but that was what you ought to do when making music, Sigurd thought. It wasn’t like lunch. “You should have yours.” Bathing was one of her great pleasures. The waters eased the strain of her magecraft and soothed her soul. Esme rose from her seat at the piano.

“Oh, thank you so much!” she said with a brilliant smile before darting out. Sigurd smiled after her before regarding the piano. Should he…? Well, why not? Walking around the piano he lifted the cover and fished inside, pulling out an old and battered copy of _Basic Piano Primer._ It was what Esme had used, so long ago, when she’d taught herself to play. Smiling softly, Sigurd took a seat and rested his hands on the keys.

He had a bit of time so he might as well get started.

* * *

 

Before Sigurd met with Archer, he carefully checked to make sure there were no traps. That was only prudent. Archer was exactly the kind of man to lure him into an ambush. However, there appeared to be nothing and as Sigurd paused to regard the waiting man he heard a soft murmur in the back of his mind. _Master?_ He hadn’t been able to make that out.

_Oh, nothing! It’s nothing at all!_ Esme answered with suspicious quickness and Sigurd frowned as he gazed at Archer. Seeing his ‘numbers’ was, indeed, rather peculiar. But it was valuable as Sigurd confirmed that the other Servant was definitely weaker than himself. Although Archer’s strength had never been brute force. _Just a thought!_ Well she could share it or he wasn’t moving. _…Archer is kind of cute,_ Esme’s mental voice was an embarrassed whisper and Sigurd had to lock his jaw to hold back a laugh.

_Oh, is that so? And am I cute too, princess?_ Sigurd teased, vaguely aware that he shouldn’t. Esme had to be in danger of falling in love with him, after so much isolation, so much lack of simple affection in her life. Yet, Sigurd couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was spillover from his Master or maybe he’d been somewhat aware in the Throne, but Sigurd felt like he’d been starved for female attention for a very long time.

_Oh no you’re not cute at all!_ Oh, his crushed heart! _You’re handsome!_ …Ahahaha! A small smile curled his lips as pleasure filed his heart.

_That’s wonderful to hear, princess. Thank you. Now, I suppose I should go say hello to our cute little Archer,_ Sigurd said with aplomb and smiled as he heard Esme giggle, still a bit embarrassed.

“Ah, Saber! Finally showing your ugly mug,” Archer greeted him with a smile and Sigurd nodded, casually resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. For almost the first time, he truly examined Archer’s appearance. Hmm, he could see why Esme would call him cute. Archer was a well-made man with strong arms, befitting his occupation. His hair was a gorgeous auburn color that seemed to shine, when it wasn’t hidden by a dark hood. His face was pleasant enough, perhaps even handsome in a good light. What marred it, though, was Archer’s affable smile. Sigurd was far too wise to fall for it, with or without crystallized wisdom. “You’ve done something with your glasses. Improving your sense of style?” ..Hmph. A bit too perceptive.

“Just a small change. What are you after, Archer?” Sigurd got right to the point. Archer loved to fence about, verbal sparring was his arena of choice. There was no point in feeding the troll. Irritation flashed across Archer’s face for the tiniest of moment before it was replaced with an ingrating smile. But Sigurd had spotted it.

“Caster is becoming an issue. Have you heard of all the faintings in town?” Archer said carefully and Sigurd nodded, although he’d actually heard nothing. It was very hard for him, in this one aspect. Esme being chained to her tower meant he had little connection to the humans in the town and unfortunately, he was very poor at blending in. But he wouldn’t let Archer know that. “I can’t find her. You’re smarter than you look, I’m hoping you can help me out with this.” Heh. Sigurd was noticing something though, as he looked beneath the physical surface and examined the structure of Archer’s body. His ‘numbers’ had tightened when he spoke of not finding Caster. Was that…?

_Yes, it’s fear,_ Esme whispered and Sigurd nodded thoughtfully, a gesture Archer wouldn’t understand hadn’t been directed at him. That was interesting. Archer was a lot of things… ambusher, con artist, dishonorable, perhaps even a true villain. But _coward_ would never make the list. Still.

“You’ll have to give me a better reason than that. I’m a Saber, after all.” Sigurd said blandly. His class was the bane of sorcerers, with his high magic resistance. Archer’s expression tightened for a moment before he smiled. It was a nasty, unpleasant smile. _True to his real nature._

“Caster is allied with Lancer. You haven’t met her yet, have you?” Archer said and his smile got uglier. Sigurd just gazed at him, impassive. There was nothing Archer could – “She’s a beautiful woman with long, silvery hair and wings on her head.” Sigurd suddenly felt like he’d been punched in the gut, although he hid the reaction well. Vaguely, he heard Esme gasp in the back of his mind. “She’s Nordic like you, and the colors she wears are strangely similar. Someone you know, perhaps?” Archer suggested slyly.

_Sigurd,_ Esme’s voice whispered and Sigurd felt like gentle hands were touching his face, comforting like a mother’s touch. It steadied him, stabilized him enough to remember that Archer was an _enemy,_ in the end. He could not show weakness to the troll.

“Perhaps. That sounds like a powerful alliance. But do you know anything of Assassin?” Sigurd asked casually and Archer shook his head… while his ‘numbers’ seemed to bubble with pleasure. Hmm. Did Archer have an alliance with Assassin and intended to stab Sigurd in the back as soon as they were done with Caster? Or was Assassin dead?

_Press him,_ Esme whispered and Sigurd decided that was fine advice.

“You betray yourself, Archer,” Sigurd let his voice take an iron tone and saw a flash of consternation on Archer’s face. Well, not surprising since he hadn’t actually betrayed himself at all… except in his numbers. “What has become of Assassin?” Sigurd stared, willing the other man to tell him the truth. Archer hesitated a moment and glanced away. Communing with his Master? That seemed likely.

“Assassin is dead. He tried to take on my Master and got taken out,” Archer said with another unpleasant smile and Sigurd believed he was telling the truth this time. That eased his worries about an alliance although he was sure Archer would still backstab him if he got the chance. Still and all, Sigurd intended to do the exact same thing to him. Weighing things in his mind, Sigurd came to a decision.

“Very well. I accept your alliance for the purpose of taking Caster out,” Sigurd said stoically, although his heart hurt at the thought of facing… _her._ Could he even do it? If only Archer had been a true ally, Sigurd would have asked him if he could shoulder the burden of facing _her._ But he wasn’t, no, he wasn’t and the chips would fall where they may. _Please, let him be lying. Don’t let my Brynhildr be here._ Sigurd didn’t think fate would be that kind.

“Good! Here’s my plan of attack…” Archer reached into his coat and pulled out a book – oh, a map. He opened it and Sigurd moved close as Archer outlined exactly how he thought they should go about looking for Caster, including how his Master would use his magic, taking samples from the leylines. Sigurd made his suggestions, ways he could use his runes to enhance the search. Of course, Archer wanted him to involve his own Master, but Sigurd only declined with a smile. Let them think his princess was a coward, hiding in her tower.

They would only find out otherwise when it was far too late.


	4. Chapter 4

In other circumstances, Sigurd might have been very worried when his Master asked him to disrobe. Esme had to be falling in love with him… and, if Sigurd was being honest, the feeling was not entirely one-sided. There were so many parallels between his Master and his beloved Brynhildr. Soft-spoken women, both of them holding great power, imprisoned and needing his rescue.

_Am I in danger of loving another woman again?_ Sigurd thought as he let his clothing and armor disappear, except for his trousers. _Ah, Brynhildr, I am a wretched excuse for a man._ It wasn’t his fault he’d lost his memories and married another woman. Yet Sigurd could not help but blame himself, bitterly, for loving her. Shouldn’t his heart have remembered? But it hadn’t, not at all, and then he’d made all the wrong choices… or had there been a good choice? Sigurd glumly suspected there hadn’t.

A warm hand on his chest recalled him from morose thoughts and Sigurd watched curiously as Esme began to work on him, gently setting tiny pieces of metal and magic against his skin. As she did, Sigurd let his gaze travel over the room. This was the floor of the tower dedicated to magical work and one thing her family did well, curse their black hearts, was supplying their daughter with raw materials. She had gold, silver, platinum and a plethora of gemstones in various types and grades. Esme also had rarer materials, things that were more spiritual than real, like his crystallized wisdom. Sigurd’s hands clenched into fists as he thought about why.

_They steal everything that she is, passing off her inventions as their own._ Sigurd didn’t understand it but he knew it was true. _Building their own empire on her discoveries, using her as a hidden resource._ Sheer, unadulterated selfishness. It was beyond belief to him. How could any parent use their child this way? How could they not be proud of her, letting her shine? Instead they seemed to be jealous of her!

“Sigurd,” Esme’s soft voice recalled him to the present and Sigurd looked down to see her gazing up at him with concerned eyes. “This is meant to be a special heart guard.” Heart guard? “I’ve been working on it since you came… it will armor your mana core and possibly save you from a fatal strike.” …Incredible! “But to do that, it will… have to… have to burrow… this will hurt. Um… a lot.” Ah. Right. Sigurd looked down at the complicated pattern laid on his skin, the way the silver lines glittered. They were dotted with real diamonds, fine ones, all of them glittering with magical energy. Esme did not practice jewel magecraft, precisely, but she could use them as power sources for her true numbers.

“I understand. Please, do it,” Sigurd said stoically. If this had to sink inside him, of course it would hurt. Esme looked at him intently before nodding and whispering a single word, setting her hand on his chest.

It was painful. Excruciatingly painful, as the diamonds all suddenly shattered, spending their energy and turning the silver into something more spiritual than real. That web of spiritual energy sank into his energy, causing the agony as it had to bypass structures. Sigurd knew it was inflicting damage, it had to and oh god it hurt! But then it found his mana core and wound around it, curling into place like a symbiotic vine. Sigurd coughed up blood and realized he’d fallen to his hands and knees.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…” Esme was whispering over and over as she touched him with hands that shook, offering him her gentle healing. Sigurd breathed heavily, tasting blood as echoes of pain wracked his body. It soon dulled, though, as her healing brought blessed relief.

“That was… unlike you,” Sigurd croaked out, a bit stunned by the experience. He’d underestimated how much damage that would cause and his princess must have known that. Esme sniffled and Sigurd regretted the words as her eyes watered.

“I knew it would hurt you terribly but it might save you,” Esme said in his ear and Sigurd swallowed as he felt the gentle touch of her breath. “I’m so sorry, please, please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Sigurd said, his voice strengthening as the pain faded. He gently rested a hand on her shoulder, noticing how fragile she felt against his palm. “We would have just wasted time dithering.” They both knew he’d have made the same choice. Esme nodded and her hair brushed him for a moment. Sigurd could smell her floral shampoo.

“You should rest,” Esme said before gently touching his brow. Her small hand felt so cold against his overheated skin. “You have a few hours before you need to meet Archer. It should be enough.” Yes, if he forced himself he could even leave now but a few hours of rest would be pleasant. “Let me help…” Sigurd accepted her help to get to his feet, feeling wobbly as he walked. He soon firmed, though, and settled gratefully onto a plush couch. It was meant for reading but was also perfect for a nap. Sigurd let himself doze off, confident he would wake at the proper time. As he dropped off, he felt Esme’s presence, warm and comforting.

Even as he slept, that feeling brought Sigurd peace.

* * *

 

Gauntleted hands bit into the dirt, pulling out a fistful to examine it. The earth was heavy and loamy, full of life to mystical senses. A second hand lifted, a black armored finger tracing a delicate sign. The rune of earth gleamed dully and the owner of the hands delicately corrected it, shifting the mystical pattern to suit his needs.

_I wonder if this is why I was summoned here?_ Sigurd wondered as he examined his rune. He said he could not understand Esme’s numbers and he thought it was true, but Sigurd could not deny that they had much in common with his runes. In fact, he thought they sprang from the same roots. _But then, how could they not? They both came from Yggdrasil in the end._ Sigurd was sure that the Root Esme referred to could be nothing else.

There was nothing here though. Moving to his feet Sigurd pulled out the map Archer had given him. Consulting it, Sigurd nodded to himself. The next ley line point that he wanted to investigate was on Abercrombie street. Hopefully no children would be out playing Pokemon Go, whatever the hell that was. A bit unfortunate this all had to be done in the open but there was simply no help for it.

Shrouding himself with his cloak of invisibility, Sigurd moved. As he did, though, he caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. Stopping and turning his head, he saw nothing but a pigeon fluttering away. Dismissing it, Sigurd moved into an easy, ground eating lope. This needed to get done.

The next spot was more fruitful than the last and Sigurd made a note in the map. Caster couldn’t help but contaminate the ley lines with her own signature and they would use it to triangulate. Once that was done, they would have a rough idea of where he or she was hiding.

_…?!_ Sigurd’s head snapped to the side as he saw another tiny movement. He scanned the darkness slowly, seeing nothing… until a flicker in the streetlight made a shadow dance. Could that have been it? But it wasn’t like him to be so jumpy. Sigurd reached up to adjust his glasses, wondering. Could his mind be playing tricks on him? _Esme, princess, can you sense anything?_

_No, nothing,_ she whispered and Sigurd frowned. Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was probably just jumpy because he was afraid to see _her._

Putting it out of mind, Sigurd kept moving. He needed to keep on schedule, even if it was pretty flexible. He and Archer had a window they were supposed to rendezvous in. Missing it would not be a catastrophe but Sigurd could easily envision himself receiving Archer’s barbed wit.

To reach the next spot he travelled by rooftop. This one was in a park, a leyline by the river. Sigurd approached it carefully, mindful of ambush, but there was nothing. He knelt by the bank of the river and gazed into the black surface, seeing… no reflection. Ah, invisibility cloaks were special. He could see the moon though, casting a soft glitter on the gently lapping, black water. Sigurd scooped up a handful of water and cradled it, not minding the bits that slipped out of his fingers as he traced a water rune –

And a delicate, gloved hand slipped past his shoulder and corrected the rune.

“!” Sigurd turned and slashed in one move but his sword only cut apart a shade and he heard ghostly, feminine laughter in the air. Sigurd stood at the ready, straining every sense as he tried to find a threat.

_Caster,_ Esme whispered in the back of his mind as Sigurd slowly glanced from left to right, moving away from the water distrustfully. _Oh, how did she know? Did she trap the ley lines? What shall we do?_ Esme sounded distraught. Sigurd took a deep breath to steady himself and put his weapon away.

“A parlor trick to scare us off. We’ll find her, princess,” Sigurd said reassuringly and regretted it as an alien voice whispered in his ear.

_Oh yes, you will. Your wife is waiting for you, hero._ Rage flared through is heart and Sigurd traced a rune in the air with the speed of long practice. It burned red for a moment before exploding outward, tearing through the woods of the park and blasting wet trees and branches into wreckage. Sigurd stood in the centre of the destruction, looking at the broken and burning trees and feeling only the rage in his heart.

“I’ll kill you for this,” he whispered and felt Esme’s gentle tug on his mind.

_Sigurd,_ her voice whispered and it felt like her gentle hands were cradling his face, cooling his temper. _Please put out the fires, it’s wet but they’re catching._ …Yes, they were. If he did nothing this park could become an inferno. Sigurd closed his eyes for a moment before lifting a hand and tracing runes of water and ice. _Go meet Archer now._ Eh? _They’ve had problems too, they want to stop._ Was Archer hurt? Sigurd grimaced as he pulled out his map, keeping a wary eye on the surroundings. Archer could very well be hurt, Saber was the special bane of the Caster class. Archer just wasn’t, they had decent magic resistance but nothing like a Saber.

After tracing a path and fixing it in his mind, Sigurd put away the map and left the park. No more furtive movements distracted him but Sigurd remained alert, scanning the surroundings for any anomaly. His cloak of invisibility didn’t work on Caster, it seemed. He would have to assume the same would be true of her mystical lackies.

Nothing befell him, though, and soon he’d reached the rendezvous point. A roof at the corner of King and Main, normally Archer would have been standing on the edge and smoking a cigarette, before turning to greet Saber with a joke or sneer. This time, though, was quite different. Sigurd found Archer huddled in the corner of the roof, his green cloak pulled down over his eyes and an arm tight around his body. If that wasn’t enough to tell the story, Sigurd spotted several puddles of fresh blood.

“Hsst, Archer,” Sigurd called softly before letting his invisibility cloak fall away. Archer didn’t look up and Sigurd saw the grimace on his face. Kneeling beside him, Sigurd gently touched his arm. “Let me see.” There was no response but harsh breathing but then Archer reluctantly pried the arm away from his body.

What was revealed was horrendous. A deep slash, it had penetrated Archer’s chest before slicing deep through his belly. Viscera were exposed and Sigurd immediately began tracing runes, feeling Esme’s mana flowing through his body in a beautiful tide. As he began mending the damage, Sigurd realized that Archer’s Master was busily doing the same thing. Well, of course he was, that was why the Servant hadn’t died of mana loss. Still, there was only so much he could do at so far a remove. Sigurd could do much better.

“…Heh… a knight like you, taking care of a thief like me…” Archer panted. Sigurd paid his words little heed. They were mostly nonsense anyway.

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I was never a knight. Knighthood wasn’t a thing when I was alive,” Sigurd said absently as he watched the flesh rebuilding. Servants were so much easier to heal than real men. “It was a rough age, when men took what they could by force and held it the same way. I tried to rule by wisdom as much as the sword but that was the exception, not the rule.” Archer laughed, a soft, pained sound.

“I’m sure. Magic runes, a demonic sword, Scandinavian… connected to a female Lancer… I think I can guess who you are.” Vexing but all too true.

“Well, I could say the same, bandit with a poisoned bow,” Sigurd said blandly and Archer chuckled again before coughing. Hm. “Well, you’re safe to move but this will come apart at the slightest blow.” Archer… Robin?... couldn’t fight like this.

“I know. Will you move on her yourself or will you wait for me?” Archer asked and Sigurd hesitated, weighing it in his mind. Every day he left Caster alone let her gather more mana and buttress her defenses. Yet, a second Servant was nothing to sneer at. Move quickly or wait? _Esme?_ He sensed his Master mulling it over in her mind.

_We should wait. We’ll need him… also, even if he’s hurt, you might be very badly hurt and then he would  shoot you in the back._ Ahaha, so true, it was better to keep Archer where he could see him. Sigurd came to a decision.

“I’ll wait for you. But try not to take too long, Archer. I have this thing about breathing, it’s an enjoyable pastime,” Sigurd said and Archer wheezed out another laugh. “Do you need an escort?” There was a moment of hesitation and Sigurd was sure Archer was consulting with his Master.

“…Only for a ways,” Archer finally said. Sigurd nodded, helping the man to his feet. Archer was cautious about revealing his Master’s base. Of course, Sigurd already knew, but he wasn’t about to reveal that. _Ah, the games we play._ It made him regretful. Sigurd would have preferred to have a genuine ally than a guarded companion. _I will also regret it when I have to kill him._ He knew Archer was a bad man, but Sigurd had been friends with bad men before. It was the way of things, was all. Well, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Caster might do Archer in, or the tower. In fact, they were banking on the tower. If Archer dare set a foot inside, it would get the job done. It was an awful thing to hope for, of course, but Sigurd still preferred to let the tower do the dirty work.

It would be better than killing a man he’d been allied to, if only for a short time.

* * *

 

Author’s Note: Archer is Robin Hood, but not the Counter-Guardian one from my other fic and not the one from FGO… this is a Chaotic Evil variant. And I hope everyone is enjoying this fic so far! Reviews make me happy inside!


	5. Chapter 5

Author’s note: Are these chapters too short? I’m not feeling it for some reason.

* * *

 

Waiting for Archer to recover gave Sigurd time to spend with Esme. She was still in communications with Archer’s Master and they’d both agreed that sending Sigurd out to scout alone was a poor idea. It was all too likely that Caster would attack him with Lancer. Given what they’d done to Archer, it was likely he would be overwhelmed.

_My beloved Brynhildr, will I truly have to fight you?_ Sigurd wondered, gazing away vacantly as he stood on the top of the tower. The view from here was spectacular, woods and greenery to the West, the suburbs of the city to the East. The sun was just rising and, catching the clouds, it was brightening the sky with pink and gold. Sigurd saw none of it, his gaze fixed inward to a vista of bleakness. _Can I fight you? Can I truly raise a weapon against the woman I love?_

Then his thoughts were interrupted as something warm pressed against his side.

“It’s cold up here. You don’t mind if I…?” Esme said so softly Sigurd strained to hear. It was… familiar… very familiar. Smiling softly, he put arm around her shoulders. She was wearing a soft blue gown, he noticed, caught beneath the bodice with a string tied in a bow. Glancing back over the wall of the tower, Sigurd truly took in the beauty of the sunrise. Ah, how gorgeous. “Sigurd… you don’t mind staying… with me…?” Sigurd glanced down and saw she was also looking at the sunrise but from the sad, troubled look on her face, Esme wasn’t seeing it. _Ah, what a pair are we._

“Not at all,” Sigurd reassured her, giving her a comforting squeeze. “I admit that it wasn’t my wish but this modern era intrigues me.” Although he found aspects of it… troubling. Esme looked up at him, those gentle yet too-wise eyes seeing his ‘numbers’ again.

“You feel like you’re lying a little,” Esme said and Sigurd sighed internally. While it was pleasant to have a woman who could see through his stoicism… Brynhildr had also had that gift… it could be damn troublesome at times.

“Not about staying with you. I embrace that,” Sigurd reassured her and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. “This modern era is not entirely too my taste. Yet, it’s nothing to worry about.” It really wasn’t. Esme cocked her head to the side, looking like a curious bird.

“What is it that bothers you?” Sigurd frowned. He didn’t want her to think he was staying just for her even if, well, he was… “I haven’t seen anything… please?” Sigurd blinked as he saw Esme’s uneasiness. Oh, of course, she was worried about the world she’d never seen.

“Well, the first thing that bothers me is how crowded it is,” Sigurd said slowly, considering it as he spoke. “Of course, this is a very large town so that’s natural. But in my day, towns like this didn’t exist.” Sigurd turned his head to look over the town. Truly, it was unthinkably large. “There was a town around my castle, you know. It was probably the biggest town in my kingdom and yet, it doesn’t hold a candle to this.”

“That’s not the only thing, is it?” Esme asked and Sigurd frowned. The rest was so nebulous it was hard to articulate but… well, he’d do his best.

“The people here are different, somehow,” Sigurd said, thinking on it. “In my day, you knew what you were… slave, warrior, wife and mother. It was like we were… that thing… more powerfully?” He was making a botch of this. “We were… more focused? I don’t know how to say it,” Sigurd finished, feeling frustrated with himself and the whole line of questioning. He thought perhaps he was projecting his feelings about staying on the people he’d interacted with? Then Esme’s hand caught his, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“I understand what you’re trying to say… it’s because of Alaya,” Esme said and Sigurd blinked, looking at her. “Sigurd, when you were alive humanity was counted in the millions. Now it’s counted in the billions.” …Ah, that was true, but how did that make the difference he had noticed? “Every human is a small part of Alaya, so the material is spread thin. It’s like… the base material has changed. When you were alive, humans were made of silver. Now we’re made of bronze.” Ah… was that what he had noticed? A fundamental shift? Although one part of that caught his attention.

“Silver, not gold? How outrageous!” Sigurd said, meaning it as a gentle tease. “We were gold, I assure you!” Esme giggled softly but shook her head.

“No, the golden age would have been earlier. Humanity was spreading widely when you lived,” Esme said and Sigurd wondered if she was right. Well, possibly, he wouldn’t know. “It has to be this way though. Once I… took a walk in the roots and I saw… I saw humanity reaching for the stars,” Esme said, reaching a hand up, as if she would cup the sun. Sigurd was entranced. “And we go, leaving Gaia behind to wither and die… this expansion, this change, is the only way to find that future. So it just has to be.”

“…Ah.” Sigurd looked up at the sky. The sun was up now, the sky less pretty as the gilding faded, yet still quite lovely. “Is that so…” He hadn’t known the nature of the sun and stars when he’d been alive, but thanks to the Grail he did now. There would be other worlds out there, capable of holding the flame of Humanity. “Then I shall embrace it,” Sigurd finally said. Yes, it seemed a change for the worse, but sometimes things had to get worse before they could get better. Hey, wait a moment. “What time is it?” Breakfast wasn’t served too early but they had to be getting close.

“Umm…?” Esme pulled out her necklace. It was a long golden chain with a simple pocket watch at the end. “Oh… we have twenty-three minutes before breakfast. Should we go?”

“Yes, we should. We wouldn’t want to miss it,” Sigurd said with a small smile. “Particularly since it should be omelettes today.” He’d noticed the meals rotated, although once in a while something random was thrown in. Esme looked bewildered for a moment.

“Oh, there’s a pattern? I didn’t notice.” Which showed how indifferent she was to food. “But I like omelettes. Yes, let’s go.” Esme smiled up at him and it was as beautiful as the sunrise, giving her face a gentle glow. Dazzling. Sigurd smiled to himself as they walked down the stairs to the dining room.

If this change was needed for greater things, he would embrace it with all his heart.

* * *

 

_That night, as he slept, Sigurd dreamed._

_He dreamed of tiny hands playing with a doll. It was a rag doll, old and worn but with a cheerful little face and button eyes._

_“It’s my birthday today,” a voice that was not his own said solemnly to the doll. Tiny feet kicked at dark stone, stone that matched the tower. “Will mommy and daddy come home? Will they bring me something?” Sigurd felt himself cuddle the doll to his chest. This body, it was so tiny, how old was this child? “If my birthday happens but there’s no one there to know, did it really happen at all?” …Oh gods. Sigurd could feel the soft cloth, the yarn hair against his cheek. “Why don’t we go play in the tree again?”_

_The child stood up and Sigurd realized how short she was as she began to walk through a place that was not the tower, yet seemed built on the same lines. She – this had to be Esme’s memories – tucked the doll under her arm. Then she began to walk. As she did, the walls of the hallway distorted. Sigurd watched in awe as the child unknowingly walked from one world to another._

_The world she walked into was one of gigantic roots and dirt, but not dark and dank. No, it was fantastic and beautiful, filled with glorious lights. Sigurd watched in awe as he saw the roots pulsing with pure life, so much it almost hurt his senses. Yet the child was unaffected or perhaps, even bathing in it, soaking it up? Ah yes, that was it, she was part of this life and had adapted to it in the way only children could. At one point she paused, looking over a complicated knot of roots and Sigurd realized, with a sense of shock, that they formed a rune. He knew that rune, Brynhildr had taught it to him…_

_“Isn’t it pretty Griselda?” The little girl held out the dolly towards the rune made of roots. “Remember, we can look but not touch!” Why couldn’t they touch? “Mommy says if you touch the roots you go away!” Sigurd felt a chill. Did that mean…? “Where do you go? I don’t know, mommy wouldn’t say and made me go back to bed.” Ah, Esme had snuck out of bed, how like a child. “But I would be sad if you went away Griselda, so look but don’t touch!”_

_Finished admiring the rune, the little girl continued on her way, skipping with bare feet over the earthen floor. It was warm, Sigurd noticed, warm and very pleasant on little feet. Then she abruptly came to a halt as there was a billow of blue. Sigurd recognized it as a kind of summoning just before it solidified into a Servant? He nearly panicked before remembering that this was just a memory. Nothing here could harm the child, or Esme would not be the woman she was._

_It was hard to hold onto that, though, as the girl had to look up to see the Servant. He was a tall man with tanned skin and shockingly white hair, yet not old. No, he was young and wore clothing of black and red, very finely made. Such clothing would have cost a fortune when Sigurd lived and he didn’t think it was much cheaper in Esme’s age, either. The man seemed startled to see a small child, grey eyes widening. Sigurd spotted a quick flash of horror, then sudden relief before the man smiled._

_“Ah, child, I’m so glad you belong here.” …Hm… interesting… “But I’m afraid you can’t play here today.”_

_“Wh-who are you? Why can’t I play today?” Esme asked, her voice squeaky. The Servant knelt down to put them on the same level and it worked, Sigurd could tell the little girl felt more at ease as the man smiled again. He really had a very charming smile._

_“Please, call me Archer. And it’s not you, it’s your friend,” he said carefully and Sigurd felt a deep shock. “He can’t go any farther, I’m sorry.”_

_“But Griselda’s a girl. She’s my only friend and I’ve taken her past this before,” the little girl said and the Servant Archer shook his head with another smile._

_“You have a new friend, a boy.” Esme looked around, as if she could see him. Sigurd was still in shock. They could tell he was watching? He was not allowed to go further into the roots of Yggdrasil? “But he can’t tell you his name… hmm, we should name him. I like the name Bob.” …Alright, now he was being mocked. Esme shook her head, cuddling her doll to her chest._

_“No, I don’t like that name. I have a new friend and it’s a boy?” the little girl mused before turning to the roots. “What should I name him?” she asked the Tree of Life and Sigurd watched in awe as the walls seemed to pulse. “They say he’s… um… that’s too long.” Oh, were they giving her his full name? Amusing. “I’ll call him Sig. That’s a good name!” Sigurd appreciated that. The man chuckled, a soft, amused sound._

_“Yes, that’s a good name. Why don’t you go play with him and Griselda back at your home?” Archer suggested and the little girl nodded. But then she looked at the man with childish solemnity._

_“Mister Archer, you seem sad. Would you like a hug?” Esme asked and Archer’s eyes widened before softening._

_“I would love a hug,” he said before opening his arms invitingly. Esme took the invitation and settled against him. Sigurd could smell something strange, a faint hint of ozone as the Servant embraced her. A warm hand went through her hair as he cuddled her close. “Ah, child, I am so, so glad you belong here,” he murmured and Sigurd understood. This man was a guardian of the Root. If Esme had not belonged, he would have been obliged to kill her. “Now, go on home. You can come back tomorrow,” Archer said as he released her and Esme nodded._

_“Bye Archer! If you’re here tomorrow we can play together!” she said and Sigurd knew that could not be. The guardian had only manifested because of his presence. Archer said nothing, though, only smiling before the child skipped away, back the way she’d come. “Let’s go home Sig, Griselda. We should have a tea party!” A tea party? “Since Sig is a boy he can have the blue cup and Griselda will have the pink cup. I’ll have the yellow cup, I like yellow.” Ah, this was cute._

_They departed the roots of Yggdrasil and soon they were safely ensconced in a playroom. Sigurd watched, with amusement, as Esme set her doll in a chair and brought out the tea set. Soon she was pouring them imaginary tea and chattering to her new friend. Ah, the imagination of a child was marvelous. Although… would her birthday really pass completely unremarked? Sigurd’s heart ached for the child as she served them all imaginary cake. It really seemed that it would. At least Esme was happy now, but it still seemed so sad._

_It was tragic for any child to be so lacking in love._


	6. Chapter 6

Sigurd had a pounding headache. Reaching up, he pushed up his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. The headache was accompanied by an odd, stretched feeling that was very familiar. He’d felt exactly the same way when Bryn had been teaching him the ways of the runes.

“Oh, are you feeling well? I’m sorry!” Esme asked anxiously and Sigurd lowered his hand before smiling at her reassuringly.

“I’m fine but we should take a break, princess,” Sigurd said easily, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “There’s only so much math a man can take.” Although his tolerance was incredibly high. At one time, he’d wanted Brynhildr to teach a hand-picked group of men the runes. Sigurd had quickly given up when he realized very few of the men could comprehend and the ones that could didn’t have the fortitude. “I do wonder at this modern era,” Sigurd murmured to himself. From what the Grail told him, Esme’s numbers were not unique. Had the spreading of humanity improved their brains? Or was it just when you had billions to pick from, it was likely you’d find quite a few who could do it?

“Um… if you don’t mind, we could take a bath together,” Esme muttered, looking away and fiddling with her hair. Sigurd stared, wondering if she was serious. “I… I have a swimsuit… it almost fits…” Almost fits? That was interesting. Sigurd could easily stop himself from showing any reaction, but he could feel the heat in his cheeks. “And you can – can be naked – under the water…?”

“That’s not needed, I have underthings beneath my trousers.” And this idea was getting better and better the more he thought about it. Sigurd knew they were both skating close to the edge but he desperately wanted a bath and the thought of having a pretty woman with him, actually sharing the water… oh, he wanted it. “Yes, let’s do that.” Esme looked at him with wide eyes but then smiled. It was the brilliant smile he found so enchanting.

“Oh, I’ll go get the swimsuit! Meet me there!” She darted out of the room and Sigurd couldn’t help but smile. Ah, his princess was so sweet.

Sigurd quickly headed up the stairs to the bathing floor. In addition to the deep tub, there was a sauna and rooms with special, heated stone recliners meant for relaxation. That was all appealing but the bath was best of all and he allowed his armor and clothing to disappear as soon as he stepped inside, except the underthings. Sigurd’s glasses immediately fogged up and he took them off, setting them safely out of the way. Settling into the water, he prepared himself to wait.

When Esme arrived, Sigurd understood what she meant by almost fits. He could tell from a single look that her swimsuit had been a one-piece at one time, before being cut in two and inexpertly hemmed. But that had been needed, because the original once piece had been far too small. The remaining fabric was tight even for a stretchy swimsuit, looking like a second skin. The top portion pressed Esme’s breasts up and they gave the impression they might pop out at any moment. Sigurd hurriedly buried the image that came to mind. In color, the swimsuit was violet with little frills of pink.

“How old were you when you last used that?” Sigurd had to ask and Esme blushed as she stepped into the bath.

“Um, fourteen.” Not bad although she’d clearly grown quite a bit since then. “That was when I went to the beach with my parents and my brother.” …Brother?

“You have a brother?” Sigurd asked curiously. She hadn’t mentioned that. Esme nodded, sinking into the water up to her neck, which was something of a disappointment but also a good idea. Sigurd did the same, feeling the heat already soothing his head.

“Yes, he’s older,” Esme said quietly, looking away and Sigurd frowned. While this conversation was paining her, he could see that, this was also something he needed to know.

“Is he the inheritor of the family Mage Crest?” Sigurd asked carefully and Esme nodded, her expression downcast as she looked at the water. “I see.” Sigurd had already guessed she had a sibling, truthfully. It made no sense to keep the heir cooped up in this tower. But a younger child who was meant to be nothing but a bargaining chip…

“He said it was just as well I was here since I’d never find a husband anyway with the numbers,” Esme said almost inaudibly and Sigurd froze with rage. Closing his eyes for a moment he controlled the feeling before moving to Esme’s side.

“Princess,” Sigurd murmured as he gently caught her cheek, lifting her face so she was looking at him. “Any man who can’t bear a woman being smarter than him is not worth your time.” His hand was wet, dampening her soft skin. Yet, that trickle of liquid from her eyes was not from the bath. Sigurd gently wiped it away with his thumb as Esme sniffed.

“I know my numbers are boring… I just want someone who doesn’t mind,” Esme said and Sigurd closed his eyes for a moment. Who had told her that about her numbers? Although it was math, it wasn’t meant to be a dance… “Sigurd, don’t be sad. Now I have you.” Sigurd opened his eyes to see her gentle smile. Warm arms went around him and Sigurd was suddenly acutely aware of Esme’s body, pressed up against his bare chest with just a thin piece of cloth between them. He manfully ignored that as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Yes, princess. I will always be here,” Sigurd murmured before gently pulling away and settling back into the water. “And your numbers might give me a headache but they certainly don’t bore me.” Esme giggled softly before smiling. It warmed her soft brown eyes and Sigurd felt a warmth in his chest at her happiness.

“Oh, I meant to ask. Would you like another neck rub?” Oh, what a heavenly thought! Sigurd nodded and turned around, settling beside her and feeling her warm hands, taking his tension away. Ah, why was human contact suddenly so pleasant? It wasn’t just Esme, even touching Archer had felt… warming. _Perhaps it has something to do with my summoning?_ If he tried, Sigurd could remember the barrenness that had been his childhood. Nothing but himself and irascible old dwarf for company. At least he’d spent a lot of time playing in the woods like Esme had spent in the roots…

Whatever the reason for it, though, Sigurd could not deny the pleasure it brought him. He let her soothe him until the headache was all but gone before pulling away.

“Would you like me to return the favor, Esme?” Sigurd asked, gently maneuvering her so she was in front of him before he rested a hand on the back of her neck. As he did, he noticed how large his hand was against her neck. She was so small, his princess, so delicate, like a beautiful flower growing in the dark.

“No one’s ever done that for me…” Esme murmured and Sigurd could hear her interest. “If you want to.” Sigurd smiled as he gently began to rub her neck and shoulders. This was familiar, Brynhildr had done this for him and taught him how to reciprocate. Such things were common among the Valkyries. The runes could give even them headaches.

As he massaged her, though, Sigurd became aware of how nice Esme’s rump felt, seated neatly in his lap. She was too thin but she wasn’t bony there… He tried hard to ignore it but soon realized it wasn’t working. Sigurd closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the most unpleasant thing he could – butchering a wild hog in the winter – and was relieved when it worked. Then Esme shifted, which almost undid his efforts.

“That was strange, your lap felt lumpy for a moment,” Esme said and Sigurd had to lock his jaw to stop a laugh. Lumpy! “I must have imagined it.”

“Mmm hmm,” Sigurd hummed, highly amused as he continued with his massage. ‘Lumpy’, heh… that was one area where Esme and Brynhildr differed. Bryn had been a virgin when Sigurd had rescued her from her wall of flame but she’d also been a Valkyrie, accustomed to uncouth gods and even more uncouth men, in the drinking halls of Valhalla. She would have known immediately what that ‘lump’ was. Sigurd was glad Esme was more innocent. “Is that feeling better, princess?” Perhaps it was wise to not let that happen again though. Esme might start to realize if the ‘lump’ recurred.

“Yes, thank you.” She moved off his lap before settling in the water again and turning to give him a sweet smile. “After we’re done here, should we spend some time in the chairs?” That was lovely but…

“We must be close to lunch. Also, we have to check up on Archer and his Master,” Sigurd said thoughtfully. Archer had to be close to recovered by now, it’d be tomorrow at the latest. Esme looked a bit downcast but nodded.

“You’re right, we have to get back to work,” Esme murmured and Sigurd nodded seriously, his pleasure at the bath fading as he contemplated it. Caster and… Lancer… were the only two remaining obstacles. Well, unless you counted Archer but he was an ally for now. “Archer’s Master gave me all the information he collected from the ley lines. Along with what you found, I think I know where Caster is.” Ah, really? Excellent! “It’s a powerful ley line just out of town in the woods… there are probably traps but it’s still almost ideal.”

“Yes indeed,” Sigurd said warmly, contemplating it. The one thing he hated above all else was confrontations in a populated area. That was one reason he’d been so accepting of assassinating Rider’s Master. That damned Rider hadn’t seemed to give a flying fuck about civilian casualties as long as his Master could cover it up. Sigurd truly did care… the most abominable part of war to him had always been the accidental victims. If Caster was making a base outside the city he could avoid all that. Esme nodded.

“We should use Archer to find the traps,” Esme murmured and Sigurd nodded. That’d be right up his ally. “But many of them will have magic. I think you should go together.” Hm. Sigurd didn’t disagree precisely but he knew he’d have to watch out for an arrow in his back. Although, if Archer could snipe Lancer that would… that would…

“I want to fight Lancer myself,” Sigurd said, aware he was being an idiot. But he couldn’t bear the thought of his beloved Brynhildr dying to Archer’s poisoned arrows. Esme gazed at him solemnly, still up to her neck in the bath water.

“Do you think you can?” That quiet question hit him in the heart and Sigurd shuddered, looking down at the water. _Can I kill my beloved Brynhildr?_ She could kill him, he knew that, but could he do the same? Then a gentle hand was touching his face. “Oh Sigurd I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“No, it needs to be said,” Sigurd said, composing himself. “I will kill her because I must.” Even as he said the words, though, doubt touched his heart. _Can I really do it?_ But he had to, for his beloved princess. Esme gazed at him worriedly but then nodded.

“We should get ready for lunch,” she said before standing. Water slid down her body and Sigurd almost hated himself for noticing how it accentuated her legs and made her breasts gleam. _Brynhildr, I am a faithless excuse for a man._ “Sigurd, please, stop feeling so sad. I know you’ll do your best.” Sigurd sighed to himself. His sweet, innocent princess couldn’t understand what was going through his mind.

“It’s fine, truly,” Sigurd reassured her before standing. Caught up in his inner misery, he completely missed the arrested look on Esme’s face as the water dripped off his body. Sigurd climbed out of the pool, feet slipping a little on the wet tiles. He heard Esme following and then a soft yelp? Glancing over he saw she’d slipped a bit more severely and was pulling herself up.

“I hate these tiles,” Esme grumbled and Sigurd smiled as he pulled a fluffy towel out of a built in cubby and began to dry himself.

“They’re the one design flaw this place has,” Sigurd remarked and Esme nodded with a sigh as she got her own towel. Whoever had picked the tiles had picked them for beauty, not function. They were truly beautiful, white tiles with individual gold designs that meshed into a seamless whole… yet they were terribly slippery to wet feet and there was no mat. An awful oversight. “At least it’s alright if you’re careful.”

“It would be funny if I cracked my head and died and my family suddenly didn’t have my numbers anymore,” Esme muttered and Sigurd reached over to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze. She looked at him with a small smile as she tossed her towel into the bin. “I’ll go change and meet you in the dining room?”

“Yes, please,” Sigurd said and Esme nodded before heading out. Sigurd finished drying himself off before manifesting his clothes and armor. Stepping outside, he re-donned his glasses. Then he walked slowly down the stairs, still feeling lost in a miasma of guilt and remorse. Ah, he’d treated Bryn so badly. He hadn’t meant to and he’d honestly been trying to make everything right for everyone but that didn’t make anything better. In fact, it made things worse.

Sigurd made his way to the dining room and stared blankly at the table, feeling no desire to sit. Instead he rested his hand on the dark wood, thinking of the past. _Ah, Gudrun, you dark, devious woman. I did love you._ That was the true tragedy of his story, Sigurd thought. Gudrun had tricked him into drinking the wine to forget his Brynhildr, because she’d desired him more than all things. And god help him, he’d loved her in return, in his perfect forgetfulness of his beautiful Valkyrie. _They were both such wonderful women._ Very different from each other, yet glorious in their own ways.

Warm arms went around his chest and Sigurd started, recalled to the present.

“Oh Sigurd. I want to help you but I don’t think I can,” Esme murmured and Sigurd swallowed before resting a hand on her wrist. So tiny and fragile in his large hand. “Are you thinking of the past?”

“I…” How to answer that? Well, it would hardly be believable if he denied it. “Yes, I am,” Sigurd admitted, still staring at the table. “I am a terrible, faithless excuse for a man,” Sigurd murmured, feeling it with all of his heart. “How could I have loved two women? How could I have wronged my Brynhildr so terribly? Why did I think it was right for her to wed another man? Why did I assist in it?” Because… because the alternative would have been war… yet… “I ripped her heart from her chest as surely as if I’d done it with my two hands.” So cruel, so cruel.

“Oh Sigurd.” Warm arms squeezed him as Sigurd closed his eyes, swallowing heavily. “You were just doing the best you could. Please, don’t be so sad.” Comfort seemed to radiate from her and Sigurd’s morose heart tried to reject it, but it was worming its way in. Gradually, he felt his mood beginning to lighten. “You were cursed and tricked and bespelled. Please, don’t blame just yourself.” …Yes, Gudrun did have to take a good share of the blame. And the curse of Andvari, and the curses Brynhildr had bourn.

“It’s true, we were likely doomed from the very beginning,” Sigurd murmured, feeling the anguish of it. And yet. “The world needs tragic heroes.” It was cruel to them, perhaps, but those were the stories that lasted. And even in this modern time, humanity needed those stories, like a light against the dark. The thought gave him a kind of peace and Sigurd breathed a long, shuddering sigh before gently patting Esme’s hand. “I’m better now princess. Why don’t we have lunch?” She let him go with a smile and Sigurd noticed she had changed into a pretty red dress. She walked around the table as Sigurd took a seat, expecting the dishes to waft in.

And nothing happened.

“Oh no, did we miss it?” Esme pulled out her pocketwatch as Sigurd stiffened, feeling sharp disgust, not at himself but at her accursed family! “Oh no, we did, by five minutes.” Five damned minutes. Why in HELL hadn’t they made the mealtimes a window instead of a set time? “Oh well, it’s fine, I don’t need lunch anyway.” Esme’s smile was brilliant and Sigurd had no doubt she meant it. She was well accustomed to skipping meals but…

“No, I won’t let that stand,” Sigurd said firmly as he stood. “I’ll go to the town right now and fetch you some food.” His princess would not be skipping meals because he was too much of an idiot to sit down when he got into the room. And then he’d distracted her! Esme stared, startled by his vehemence.

“Oh but Sigurd what about Caster? And we don’t have any money!” He didn’t care.

“Caster won’t try anything in broad daylight and I’ll use my cloak to steal something. Just you wait princess, I’ll be right back,” Sigurd promised before taking spiritual form. He ignored Esme’s protest as he quickly left the tower, heading for the town to accomplish his task. As he did, Sigurd pondered what kind of food to fetch for her. Something easy and portable… ah, he’d filch some kabobs, those would be perfect and the meat would do his princess good. As he carefully attended to theft, Sigurd realized that his mood was much improved.

Taking care of his princess always made him feel better.


	7. Chapter 7

Archer’s real name was Devin of Loxley and he was a bad man.

Robin Hood was the name he’d taken, but only to justify his crimes. A bandit to the core, thievery had been his livelihood. Take from the rich and give to the poor? What a joke. Yes, he’d given to the poor but only a few pittances to keep the stupid peasants on his side. And they had been bang on his side, too, right until the end. Robin had fooled them with his alms and sweet smile and, to be fair, the lords had had plenty to do with it as well. Robin had precious little use for the stupid peasant but he had even less use for the so-called nobility. And yet, he liked Saber quite a bit. Why was that?

_Saber is a good man but not an honorable one._ What Robin hated, more than anything, was so called ‘honor’. Chivalry was a joke and honor was a farce, hiding tyranny and stupidity. Yet, Saber wasn’t like that. Saber could cut throat and stab backs with the best of them, although his motives were purely good. _I can respect that._ In fact, a deep, well-hidden part of Robin was… jealous. He’d known precious few truly good men in his life and none as a child. If his father had been anything like Saber…

Robin shook away that thought with annoyance. He didn’t regret being the man he was and he wasn’t going to wish for something stupid like time travel! No, he planned to wish for a new life so he could take up his career of pillaging and plundering again. The modern era was full of possibilities and Robin intended to make the most of it. What mattered about Saber was that he was _dangerous._ Robin wasn’t looking forward to backstabbing him – he truly liked Saber – but he knew he needed to get it done. If he didn’t, Saber would do it first. _Do unto others before they do unto you._ That could be the slogan of the Grail War.

“Hmm hmm hmm hmmmmm hmmm…” That humming was annoying as hell and Robin sighed to himself. It was a petty irritation, he knew that, but it was damned irritating. Reaching out of his nest of soft cushions, Robin picked up a beer and took a swig. He was nearly recovered but ‘nearly’ wasn’t good enough at a time like this. Then the humming abruptly cut off and Robin paused in the act of sipping his beer.

“What’s up?” he asked, setting the beer down untouched and sitting up. His Master was sitting at a rather fine desk, peering into a crystal ball. (at least, that was how Robin thought of it. His Master would have huffed and said it was a scrying tool) But the man’s back was to him so he couldn’t see anything, not that he would anyway.

“Saber just left the tower,” he said after a moment and Robin blinked. The tower Saber’s Master lived in was a pretty obvious fortress and easy to keep an eye on. Then he frowned, reaching up to scratch his head.

“What’s he up to?” They had agreed they wouldn’t move on Caster until Robin was fully healed. Caster had tried a few things to penetrate his Master’s defenses, but they’d all failed. And there had only been a cursory attempt on the tower that had confirmed it was well guarded.

“He’s going into the town, wearing that tarnkappa.” Ah, right, the invisibility cloak. Not as useful as it seemed at first glance… quick combat moves gave the wearer away. It also didn’t do much to hide the wearer from scent tracking or mystical scrying. It was good for general scouting, though, and keeping the civilians from seeing Saber. “I need to concentrate or he might lose me,” his Master muttered and Robin nodded, taking the hint and sitting back. His Master would say something when he knew something. Robin picked up his beer and took a deep swig, enjoying the deep, malty taste. Dark beers were his favorite.

“What the hell?” his Master muttered and Robin looked over inquiringly, taking another sip of beer. “Is he stealing FOOD?” …Say what now?

“What? That doesn’t make any sense,” Robin said. Saber could steal food, he was certain of that – the other Servant would not be above theft – but why would he do it? Servants didn’t need to eat and… “That tower must have plenty of food!” People who lived in castles didn’t run out of food unless there was a siege going on… hm. Robin frowned as he thought. Nothing came in or out of the tower except for Saber. Was it possible the girl WAS running out of food? But surely there were magical deliveries!

“That’s quite unlikely, I doubt she’s a prisoner there,” his Master said before standing up and stretching before turning around. Robin examined him for a moment. He was a rather portly, middle-aged magus with a balding head that he tried to hide with a comb-over. His clothing was very elegant and while he wasn’t an unkind man, he was a very ruthless one. Robin worked well with him. “I can think of many explanations… they might have had some kind of cooking disaster and Saber is fetching food rather than making her wait.” Oh. Well, that would make sense, particularly if the girl was doing the cooking. “Or perhaps they just wanted a special meal and decided the risk was minimal. And it is, it’s broad daylight after all.” …Hm… Robin didn’t think so.

“Saber isn’t the kind of man to steal on a whim,” Robin said slowly, turning it around in his mind. “But I wonder if she talked him into it?” Saber did strike him as the kind of man who, when he fell for a woman, fell very hard. Although. “Boss… what if she is running out of food though?” That thought bothered him because – “That would mean she’s a prisoner in that tower.” Robin hadn’t thought of that before. He’d assumed Saber’s Master was a coward or crippled in some way that made it safer to tuck her away. His Master hesitated a moment before shaking his head.

“That really is very unlikely, Archer. She’s an incredible magus, clearly one of the Numerologists. More likely she’s just a hermit or crippled in some way. I wonder if she’s disfigured? That would explain why she’s never been to the Clock Tower.” Yeah, they’d discussed that before. Robin shrugged before going back to his beer.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said before taking another long swig. “You think I’ll be ready tomorrow?” He thought so and his Master nodded.

“Yes, tomorrow we’ll get rid of Caster and Lancer. The only question is if we’ll get rid of Saber as well,” his Master remarked and Robin nodded with a frown. Saber was the tricky one because when exactly should they betray him? Robin resolved to look for a good moment.

Only one team could win the Grail War and they were determined to be the ones.

* * *

 

Robin and his Master were not the only ones watching.

Medea of Colchis smiled as she gazed into her own scrying tool, touching the surface with a loving hand. She would call it what it was, though, a ball of finely made crystal. Perfectly suited to the task she was putting it.

“Your husband is such a handsome man,” Medea remarked, smiling as she heard a soft, barely audible sound. Somewhere between a whine and a whimper, it was completely involuntary. “Truly, he is unbearably attractive.” It was very rare for Medea to lust after a man on sight, but Sigurd captured her attention. “Tall and lean, well muscled but not too much… those runes he employs…” Medea did admire a man who had a good mind. “That hair, that handsome face… but most of all, those eyes.” Medea found Saber’s green eyes, framed in those glasses, captivating. They seemed to carry an incisive intellect and a deep wisdom. “Such a _substantial_ man.” That seemed to capture the essence of it quite neatly. Jason had been a show, a charismatic front. Sigurd was not particularly charismatic, with his stoic personality, but he had all the substance that Jason had lacked. “I love a strong, quiet man in glasses,” Medea murmured, stroking her ball.

“Leave him alone…” The voice was strained and thread, barely above a whisper. Medea smirked to herself. “Don’t touch him.” There was the sound of a body shifting and Medea turned around to regard her Servant and captive.

“I will do as I wish,” she said smoothly, walking towards the stone slab and admiring the flush on Lancer’s cheeks. The beautiful Valkyrie was tied spread eagle on a slab of stone, held in place with shackles of red power. Her body trembled as Medea admired it. _She’s not really my type._ Medea preferred delicate, flat chested girls like… like someone she couldn’t quite remember. Brynhildr did not fit that profile at all. Still, she was adorable, when she was so flushed and trembling with arousal. Medea floated into the air, moving smoothly over the slab and settling between her captives’ legs. For a moment, she paused to admire the picture the Valkyrie presented.

Moved by some imp of the perverse, Medea had chosen to dress this particular toy as a schoolgirl. A very short plaid skirt and a button up white blouse, but so thin it was nearly see-through. Medea smiled as she spread her hands on pale thighs, lifting the skirt and revealing white panties. They were damp from Brynhildr’s juices, sticky and clinging to her sex. It was delightfully obscene.

“What a perverse little girl you are, enjoying this so much,” Medea murmured, pressing a finger delicately against that damp crevice. Brynhildr’s gasp was music to her ears. “Ah, you like it when I touch you like this? Well, how can I deny you?”

“N-No… stop…” Medea did like Brynhildr’s breathy little voice. Smiling, she began to gently tease the Valkyrie, with her hands and magic. It was so pleasant to watch her squirm and whimper, her breathing coming in sharp little gasps as she became more and more undone. As she squirmed that white blouse pressed against her breasts, outlining her beautifully erect nipples. Medea’s breath came a bit faster at the sight. True, Brynhildr wasn’t her type but this was… arousing…

Medea enjoyed every moment of breaking the pretty Valkyrie. When the woman finally cried out in a mixture of misery and joy, Medea leaned close, so their lips were almost touching.

“Tomorrow you will kill your beloved Sigurd, turning him to nothing but ash and dust,” Medea murmured and Brynhildr cried out again, so soft yet so full of anguish. It was even more delightful because Medea knew she wanted to do it, wanted to spill Sigurd’s blood. Yet, to do it under compulsion tainted her precious desire.

“I h-h-hate you,” Brynhildr muttered, still dry eyed but with a suspicious moistness building. Medea laughed, a soft, cruel sound before she cupped the Valkyrie’s cheek.

“Hate me with all your heart! We both know that your hatred only makes you weaker,” Medea taunted. “Your love is what gives you strength.” They both knew it was true and more tears filled Brynhildr’s eyes like a liquid sheen. Yet, they did not fall. Well, she could fix that. “And remember, if you don’t kill Sigurd tomorrow – if by some miracle he kills you – I’ll make him take your place. Do you understand?”

“Y-Y-Yes.” The tears did fall this time and Medea revelled in them, reflecting on it. Brynhildr truly loved Sigurd, but that love was cursed with death. Still, she might have tried to resist… but now she would fight with all her heart, to spare her husband suffering. Medea was confident she would succeed. And if somehow Brynhildr didn’t… how would she dress Sigurd? Perhaps a nice suit. And the glasses of course. He would have to keep the glasses. As Medea floated off her toy, she hummed happily to herself.

Whichever one of them won, she couldn’t lose.

* * *

 

Sigurd wasn’t ready for the confrontation but he did his utmost to convince himself that he was.

He prepared his weapons and armed himself with Esme’s numbers. She had made several potent ones, just for his battle. One in particular would be of great use, a cage meant to hold a Servant in place. Esme had tested it on him and Sigurd had found it a grueling experience although he had been able to break free after a short moment of intense effort. But in a battle, a short time was all that was needed to take the kill. The others included several flash runes, meant to explode in brilliant light, and a special numeric shield that would deflect arrows. That last would be tricky because it had a limited power source but if Archer attempted to shoot him in the back, it would activate automatically. That was a great blessing and could save Sigurd from one sneak attack.

Satisfied that he was ready as he possibly could be, Sigurd made a quick goodbye. Well, he meant to.

“Sigurd,” Esme hugged him before he could go and Sigurd stiffened, caught by surprise. “Just do your best.” Sigurd looked down at her glossy brown hair and felt a twist in his heart. _Can I do my best?_

“I won’t fail you, princess,” Sigurd assured her and he meant it, although he knew his resolve would be sorely tested. Esme squeezed him a bit tighter and Sigurd rested a hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. This reminded him, oddly enough, not of Brynhildr, but Gudrun. Bryn had taken his safety for granted but Gudrun never had. Esme sighed softly before letting go and stepping back.

“I know. Good luck!” Sigurd accepted the wish and vanished with alacrity, moving swiftly through the woods. He needed to meet up with Robin.

Sigurd used a ley line to find the other Servant. Not that there was anything special about the ley line – there wasn’t – but Esme had arranged with Archer’s Master that they’d meet up along it. So Sigurd stayed alert as he travelled down the ley line and wasn’t surprised when a small rock hit him in the shoulder.

“Hsst!” Sigurd looked up with a blink, realizing that Archer was sitting in the limbs of a tree. As he watched the man jumped down to land easily on the soft ground. “Take off that damn thing, it’s giving me a headache.” …Oh. Sigurd felt a touch of heat on his face as he made the invisibility cloak vanish.

“Does that thing even work anymore?” Sigurd wondered aloud. Archer shrugged.

“There’s a weird little flicker when you make fast movements.” …Interesting… “And it’s useless against magi, when they’re actively scrying anyway. My Master gave me a heads’ up or I’d have likely missed you.” Sigurd closed his eyes for a moment as Archer’s words made him remember… Brynhildr hadn’t been fooled by the tarnkappa either. How had he forgotten? “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Sigurd said, shaking himself out of that moment. Archer was frowning but then he shrugged.

“Well, let’s get it on. I’ve isolated the edges of the Bounded Field.” That was helpful. Sigurd nodded and let himself follow Archer. The other Servant was more suitable to finding traps anyway.

There were no traps leading up to Caster’s lair, though. Something that made Sigurd suspicious. When they located what had to be the place, his worst fears were confirmed.

“This is an excellent battlefield for me but a very poor one for you,” Sigurd remarked, gazing out over the wide, clear field. Robin muttered something uncouth and Sigurd did him the favor of ignoring it. “But we already agreed that I will take Lancer.” At least, Archer’s Master had agreed to it.

“Oh yes. But if you get killed, make sure to wound her badly so I can mop up,” Archer said and for one brief moment, Sigurd wanted to kill him. _How dare you threaten my wife?_ Then the emotion died into cold resignation. He was going to kill her himself. What rock did he have to stand on? “Saber. Pull it together or you’re going to die.” Sigurd blinked and actually focused on Archer, really seeing the other Servant’s frown. As he did he felt Esme’s concern like a warm weight in the back of his mind.

“It’s fine. I’m ready,” he said before turning and striding into the field, directly towards the entrance. Archer cursed softly before melting into the woods to watch. As he walked, Sigurd felt his resolve firm. He would kill Brynhildr, then he and Archer would hunt down Caster. This was how the future would be.

Sigurd was expecting Brynhildr to come out to meet him, yet it was still a shock when she did. Sigurd stopped cold, arrested by the sight of her. _She hasn’t changed at all._ Her pure beauty, the pale skin the shade of newly fallen snow. Her spreading hair, shaded like no mortal woman, the violet eyes that seemed to see into his soul, the long fingered hands that held her long spear with such assurance and… and…

The expression of utter misery on her face.

“Oh Sigurd why did you come? Why didn’t you stay away?” Brynhildr lamented as Sigurd stayed rooted, vaguely aware of Esme trying to attract his attention, telling him to move, her fear for him… “Now I must kill you to spare you, my beloved Sigurd.” She readied her spear and Sigurd knew she was going to attack but his body felt frozen. How could he raise a weapon against the woman he loved?

**_SIGURD!_** Sigurd’s eyes glazed for a split second before he acted automatically, blocking Brynhildr’s first lightning slash with Gram. As he did he felt the power of a Command Seal motivating him, urging him to… oh. _Don’t die!_ That was the command that had been forced through the Seal.

Sigurd found his balance and his will as Brynhildr attacked him like a woman possessed. That was truly what she was, possessed by the cursed need to destroy the thing she loved and Sigurd accepted it. She needed to die. Lancer’s eyes widened as Sigurd abruptly went on the offensive, combating her with fury and resolve. Their weapons impacted over and over in a delicate dance of death but now he was driving her back. And Sigurd had a plan in mind.

“Sigurd, you have to die! Let me kill you!” …Brynhildr sounded more unhinged than even Sigurd expected. “It’s the only way to save you!” Their weapons locked together and Sigurd was breathless at her strength, even as he held the Valkyrie back with his own might.

“Save me from what?” Sigurd asked and tears filled Brynhildr’s eyes.

“The evil witch!” Was Bryn referring to Gudrun or Caster? “AiiiiiiiiiiiiAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Sigurd gasped as pure power pulsed through Brynhildr’s weapon and blasted him away. Pain ran through his body and he felt flesh shred, hot blood staining his armor but it didn’t matter. Brynhildr was flying at him, weapon outstretched but in her love-fueled madness she had made a mistake! In the split-second opening that she gave him, Sigurd pulled out and unleashed Esme’s Numbers.

The Number of Binding took the form of a small, octagonal column of iron, roughly the size of a knife. When unleashed on a target it parted smoothly into five pieces. Brynhildr’s head went back, her eyes going wide as she registered the magic in the air. She tried to abort and dodge but was too late. The iron hit her and knocked her to the ground, pinning her on her back. Pieces of iron lodged firmly yet not hurtfully against pale flesh, holding her in place. Sigurd moved to take the kill –

And stopped as he saw her. Brynhildr was sprawled on the ground, her hair spread beneath her and for a moment Sigurd was taken back in time, to when he had ridden through the wall of flame to find his beautiful wife. It was the same, it was all the same, his beautiful Brynhildr, helpless and alone.

Then the Numbers shattered and Sigurd belatedly tried to take the kill but the moment was past. Brynhildr’s lance nearly speared him through the gut and he was forced to leap back.

_I wasted it._ Sigurd felt a deep sickness in his gut as he ran around, using his daggers to keep Brynhildr away from him. Her battle madness had intensified, if anything, and she was desperate to reach him. _I wasted it I wasted it I wasted it._ He’d wasted Esme’s precious Number. How could he have done something so stupid?!?

He couldn’t evade forever though and Brynhildr quickly ran him down. Sigurd gasped as their weapons crossed again, realizing he was dangerously off balance. Esme’s Command Seal was still in effect, though, and Sigurd did the best thing he could think of… he palmed a new Number. This one was a silvery little ball and closing his eyes tightly, Sigurd tossed it in Brynhildr’s face.

The flash Number went off with a bang that left his ears ringing. But that was much better than Brynhildr’s pained scream. Sigurd immediately ran, taking the opportunity to escape within the trees. He had to live. The Command Seal urged him to live and he couldn’t fight like this…

Sigurd hid behind a tree, breathing heavily and feeling the hot blood, the sweat on his face. _I couldn’t do it._ He’d had the opportunity, it had been given to him on a silver platter, and then he’d failed. _I’m sorry Esme, I am a worthless excuse for a man._ Despair settled over him as Sigurd let his head fall back, closing his eyes. He might have cried but he hadn’t done that since he was a boy. He didn’t really remember how…

_Oh Sigurd,_ Esme’s voice whispered in his mind and Sigurd’s breath caught in a rough sound that was not a sob, but was far too close. He was failing her, he knew he was failing her. She should – should tell him that… not like Gudrun, no, Esme was not a domineering Queen but his Princess would be so disappointed in him… _Don’t be sad. I understand if you can’t._ Sigurd blinked and lifted his head. _Please don’t be sad for me, I’ll be fine. Rest my beloved prince._ Warmth caressed his face, touching him like gentle hands. It was like… the mother he’d never had…

“Sigurd, oh Sigurd, where are you?” Sigurd froze as he heard Brynhildr’s breathy voice, too close. “Please let me kill you gently, my love. I’ll save you from her, I promise…” Brynhildr suddenly sniffled. To Sigurd’s hyper aware senses, it sounded like it was in his ear. “I couldn’t save my Master but I’ll save you… oh Sigurd, she reminded me of you…” Sigurd realized, with a detached feeling, that Bryn was making more sense than he thought. What had happened to her Master? Was Caster somehow acting as a Master? Could a Servant do that?

_It’s alright Sigurd. You can rest now,_ Esme whispered and Sigurd felt the Command Seal pulling back. She was letting him…?

“No, I can’t. I can’t do that to you princess,” Sigurd whispered. He couldn’t leave her to be all alone again. She might say she was fine and she might really be fine – Esme had great inner strength – but she still might someday choose to walk off the wall of the tower. _I can do this._ Sigurd had no idea why – perhaps it was his nature – but being given permission to give up meant he could not. “I will save you.” Iron determination filled his soul and Sigurd looked at his sword. Yes. This was how he would do this.

“Brynhildr!” Sigurd stepped out of hiding with a firm and steady tread. They were still in the trees… well, that was fine, he could do it here. Brynhildr turned, her eyes wide and startled. “Let’s end this,” Sigurd said steadily, gathering the power of his Noble Phantasm. “Using special move. O Demonic Sword of the Sun, give rise to destruction!” Sigurd could feel mana streaking to Gram as it glowed with a baleful light. But even as he chanted, he heard Brynhildr’s voice.

“Love. Hate. Love. Hate. Love… love, love love love… Brynhildr Romantica!”

“Bolverk Gram!” The two unleashed Noble Phantasms did not clash with each other. As if by some suicidal agreement, both powers plunged into their bodies instead.

_!!!!!!!_ Sigurd had never felt anything like it. Brynhildr’s spear, enhanced by her terrible curse, tried to rend his mana core. If it had not been augmented, it would have. But Esme’s Numbers were bound inextricably to his core and for Brynhildr, it was like trying to stick a knife in the hard pit of a peach. After a moment the Noble Phantasm deflected, sliding past the hard obstruction and Sigurd gasped as it shredded his body. But his mana core was intact, which meant he would live.

Brynhildr would not. Sigurd felt deep anguish but also completion as his Gram plunged into her chest. For a moment they were caught together, a tableau of death but then their weapons vanished and Bryn collapsed against him. Sigurd caught her, his body screaming in agony. But he still held her gently, easing her to the ground.

“Let me take the burden between us this time,” Sigurd murmured as he held Brynhildr close. She gazed up at him with sad eyes, blood splattered across her cheek.

“Oh Sigurd,” she murmured and lifted a shaking hand. Sigurd took it, lacing their fingers together. “Please, a final… wish…?” Of course. Sigurd nodded. “My… my Master… her body is in the lake. Please… give her a pyre…?” Brynhildr’s voice was so faint, so faint, but Sigurd could still hear.

“I shall,” Sigurd murmured, holding her close. Brynhildr felt so light now, like the air she was evaporating into. Little sparks of light were rising from her body. Sigurd held her tighter, knowing it was futile. His Brynhildr was dying…

“I love you Sigurd,” Brynhildr breathed and what was left faded away. Sigurd was left holding nothing and he looked blankly at his gauntleted hands. There was blood on them, still fresh and wet. Their bodies vanished but the blood remained… Sigurd put his hands on the ground, staring at the bloodstains there and wished he could cry. But somewhere along the way, he’d lost the knack.

No matter how much his heart screamed in anguish, Sigurd had no tears to shed.


	8. Chapter 8

Robin watched Sigurd battling Brynhildr and thought the man was a damned fool.

_Does he enjoy torturing himself?_ Robin wondered as he watched the battle. There was no real sign of Saber’s anguish – he seemed resolved and his usual self – but Archer was sure it was there. _I could snipe her and we could end this._ Robin really wanted to do it. Sure, he could take Caster on by himself, but it wasn’t a thrilling idea. Where was she anyway?

Robin really intended to honor Saber’s wishes, though. After all, it worked out great for him! As long as Saber wounded Lancer enough, he could mop up before moving on an unsupported Caster. He’d rather have Saber along – Casters could be vicious – but Archer was confident in himself. He didn’t need Saber to win.

As the battle progressed, though, Robin noticed a troubling trend. Saber was already hurt but Lancer was nearly untouched. When Saber unleashed that Mystic Code – his Master’s works were something else! – Archer thought they had it.

Then Saber fucked it all up.

_G_ o _d damn it!_ Robin thought with disbelief, not caring that he was being blasphemous. _I can’t let this go on._ If he did, Saber was going to get killed and Lancer was barely hurt. Archer materialized his bow and aimed carefully on Lancer, looking for just the right moment. Which turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to do.

“SHIT!” Archer exclaimed as white light filled his vision and pain stabbed through his head like an icepick. Vaguely, he heard his Master cursing and realized the man had been looking through his eyes, and had taken part of the impact. His eyes were still watering and his head was suddenly throbbing as Robin hunched over, hands over his eyes. “I’m fucking blind. Master, do something,” Robin muttered, rubbing his eyes frantically. Saber… was probably alright now, he must have used that flash grenade as a cover but he didn’t have _time_ for this!

Then Archer went completely still as something cold and sharp pressed against his throat.

“Do what I say if you wish to live,” a male voice spoke in his ear and Robin swallowed, moving just his eyes to see who was there. A dark hooded cloak and a skeleton mask… Archer felt a deep shock. _We killed him!_

_Robin, do what he says._ His Master sounded strained. _There’s another one here with a knife to my throat._ Assassin had multiple bodies. Robin closed his eyes for a moment in pure frustration as he realized they’d been played. Assassin had staged his death to fool not just them, but Saber as well and Archer had no way to warn him!

For a moment, Robin weighed things in his mind. A cut throat would be inconvenient for a Servant and he could sense this Assassin fragment lacked the power to kill him outright. The real issue was his Master. A cut throat would be far more than inconvenient for HIM but Robin had high Independent Action. Was it time to sacrifice his Master? Particularly since it would be just like an Assassin to use them to take out Saber, then cut his Master’s throat anyway?

_Robin, by the power of my Command Seal, do what he says!_ Robin swore under his breath as he realized his Master had followed his calculations effortlessly. Not by reading his mind, no, just by knowing how his brain worked.

“You didn’t need to do that, I was going to anyway,” Robin muttered, thinking it was probably true. Well, for his Master ‘probably’ wasn’t good enough. Robin could understand that, he’d feel the same way if he was alive. “Fine, what do you want?” He couldn’t do anything else now. Assassin chuckled softly.

“Wait.” …Well, fine. Robin turned his attention back to the duel between Saber and Lancer… just in time to see the suicidal fuck skewer Lancer, and be skewered himself! Archer watched and waited for them both to vanish but to his surprise, after a touching moment of hand holding, only Lancer vanished. Robin watched Saber’s face as he rested his hands on the ground. His face was still as a stone, without any sign of tears, but Robin thought he’d never seen that kind of a look before. Still, that wasn’t what concerned him. _Saber is much tougher than I thought._ That should have shattered his mana core. How hadn’t it? Although his chest was torn up so badly it reminded Robin of his own injuries earlier in the week.

Then Caster was there and Robin could only wait.

* * *

 

Sigurd had no time to mourn.

He knew that, and forced himself to his feet despite the agonizing pain. Sigurd could sense Esme’s mana flowing through him, busily healing his wounds. It was an abnormal amount and he knew she was accessing the Root to empower herself. Yet, could that possibly be enough? _Archer, now would be a good time for a helping hand._

Sigurd shoved Gram’s tip into the ground and surreptitiously used his sword to support his weight as a woman in purple floated out from between the trees. She was really quite beautiful, he thought, with a fine figure and odd purple hair. Her sharp ears made Sigurd wonder if the woman had fey blood.

“You’re even more handsome with blood painted across your body, barely able to stand,” she said with a wicked smile and Sigurd blinked. That… was not the opening he’d been expecting. “You know, you confuse me, warrior.” Sigurd dearly wanted to spit in her face and tell her to go to hell, after seeing Brynhildr’s misery. And yet… _No, keep her talking as long as you can._ Esme’s whisper echoed his own thoughts.

“How so?” Sigurd asked warily and Caster’s smile softened a bit before she explained.

“You seem like such a strong man. Not just your body, but your mind,” she said and Sigurd was starting to feel nervous. This… reminded him of Gudrun… “Such skill with magic from a Saber! You’re capable of being a Caster, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for his response, which was just as well. Sigurd preferred not to admit it. “Yet, you betrayed her.” Sigurd felt a sudden jolt of pain. “Why didn’t you cast aside your second wife and go back to her? Why did you help another man to marry her? Why?” Sigurd’s attention was firmly fixed on Caster and he saw the question truly bothered her. Vaguely, he wondered what man had betrayed her in her past.

“It was…” How should he handle this? Stall as long as possible, yes. “It shames me to admit that I loved them both,” Sigurd finally said, still feeling the pain of it. Although… something was… different…? “Gudrun erased my memories but then, she won my heart. That was why I married her.” He hadn’t accepted her because she was a Queen. No, Sigurd had been captivated by her dark glory, her beauty and her spirit. “And then… when I remembered… I couldn’t set her aside. For my love for her but also because it would have meant bloody war,” Sigurd said, remembering the political situation. Gudrun couldn’t have forgiven the insult and if he’d set her aside to take back his Bryn and their kingdom, she would have surely declared war on him. “She was a vengeful woman.” Oh how he knew that. Sigurd had restrained Gudrun several times, in the few years they had been married. “But seeing Brynhildr so bereft and alone… knowing she would be waiting for me forever… when my brother-in-law expressed an interest, it just seemed right.” Sigurd dared to take a bit of weight off his sword. He was already steadier, yes. Could he fight though? “I wanted her to be happy and loved and I knew he was a good man.” Sigurd felt a flicker of anguish as he remembered. Giving up Brynhildr to another man had been the hardest thing he’d ever done and then… “I just wanted good for everyone and in the end, there was nothing.” Himself, sliced apart by the woman he loved. Brynhildr burning to death, leaving behind nothing but ashes. And Gudrun widowed, left mourning him for the rest of her life. What had any of it been for, in the end?

_Sigurd, Archer’s Master isn’t responding to me anymore,_ Esme whispered urgently and Sigurd stiffened. _I can’t pull you back to me with a Command Seal, the bounded field is too strong._ That… wasn’t good. _I have another idea but I’m not sure… it might destroy you._ Destroy him? How?

“I see,” Caster said with a small sigh and Sigurd’s attention flashed back to her. She was smiling now, but not wickedly. No, she looked genuinely happy as she drew out a weapon? “You are just as I’d hoped. You’ll make an excellent slave, Saber.” He might have taken offense to that – Sigurd would never submit to slavery! – but his attention was riveted to what she was holding.

“What is that?” Sigurd whispered, staring at the ‘numbers’ of the blade. The changes to his glasses revealed that it was a great and powerful Number, yet twisted on a level he could barely comprehend. It repulsed him, sending shivers of dread down his spine and in the back of his mind, Sigurd heard Esme gasp. “Stay away from me!” Sigurd lifted his sword, setting himself as Caster stepped forward. She stopped, a slightly surprised look on her face.

“You’re afraid of a little dagger?” Was that even a dagger? Ah, yes, that was the physical form it took. Sigurd had been so involved in the other side of it that he’d hardly noticed. “Well, well. You can actually see what it is? Is it those glasses you wear? You are truly intriguing, hero. Perhaps I need a bit of help…” Shadowy forms melted out of the trees and Sigurd’s breath caught in his throat. So many, men and women, wearing white skull masks. “Assassin, restrain him for me.”

_“Zabaniya!”_ Sigurd’s eyes went wide as Assassin moved… against _Caster._ She screamed in shocked surprise as her minion suddenly turned on her and daggers stabbed into her body, her limbs and her vitals. At the same moment he felt Esme’s ward activate and whirled in time to see Archer’s arrows going astray, defeated by her shield. What the hell was happening??? Had Archer betrayed him with Assassin…?

_There’s too many! Sigurd!_ Shit, shit shit! Sigurd knocked another fusillade of arrows out of the air with a series of air runes, even as a few of the Assassins began launching attacks on him. His sword weaved a pattern of death and a head flew from dark shoulders but there were so many! _I’m doing it now! By the power of my Command Seal –_ what followed next wasn’t words, it was runes? Pure mathematics, equations created in Esme’s mind, seared through Sigurd’s skull and his body obeyed a command he didn’t understand. The very nature of his mana seemed to shift and distort into… what?

Sigurd had no time to contemplate the change. Even as it happened, something reached out to him. It looked like a filmy white hand and the world around him became impossibly distant, the sounds of battle and death becoming muffled to nearly nothing. That was not comforting, though, because as the hand grasped him Sigurd’s senses were assaulted in a different way… the sickly sweet stench of rot filled his nose as the copper tang of blood rested heavily on his tongue. Icy cold stabbed at his skin before sinking into his bones and guts, causing an agony unlike anything Sigurd had ever known. And despite that, the hand seemed to hold him strangely gently, inflicting no true harm as it slowly, delicately drew him away. Sigurd was helpless as a newborn chick as the battlefield vanished completely into nothing but hazy white.

Then white shifted to dark stone and Sigurd landed on his knees on the floor.

“Sigurd, Sigurd, oh Sigurd I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Warm arms went around him and Sigurd realized he was shaking, shaking so hard his teeth were rattling. Yet, he couldn’t stop, as even his bones seemed to ache with the cold. And his horrible wounds stung, adding an extra layer of agony on top of horror.

“What… was…?” Sigurd croaked as he put an arm around Esme, feeling her warmth and life. A hand gently touched his cheek and Sigurd shuddered before resting his face against her. He needed her warmth, anything to take away this deathly chill.

“I used a Command Seal to make your numbers looked like me, then I kicked the tower,” Esme said softly in his ear as Sigurd breathed in her scent, felt the brush of her hair. “It did the rest. It’s bigger than a Command Seal, much bigger.” …Yes. The tower was much closer to the Grail itself than a mere Command Seal.

“It’s a monster,” Sigurd said, still shaken by the encounter. He’d known the tower was monstrous, of course – Esme had told him of it’s nature – but that was still different from experiencing it first hand. “Esme, I… uh…” Sigurd grunted as she tried to help him to his feet, accidentally setting most of his weight on her. Esme gasped but accepted the burden without complaint.

“You need to go to bed. You’re safe now Sigurd, you have to rest,” Esme said softly and Sigurd nodded, feeling exhausted to the bone. Oh god, the stairs, how was he – “Right over here.” Oh, were they on the right floor? Thank god!

Sigurd was barely on his feet when he collapsed into a bed. Vaguely, he was aware of the fact that the sheets were pink and frilly, matching the curtains that blew with the breeze. Yet, it didn’t matter… what mattered was Esme’s whisper in his ear and Sigurd managed to obey, making his armor vanish. Hands rested on his body and Sigurd felt the gentle flow of healing, even as awareness of the world fell away.

Utterly exhausted, there was nothing he could do but accept blessed unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

_The tower of our family was never just a normal tower._

_It was built by our ancestor. He was a great magus, who dared to reach for the pinnacle of perfection. But perfection needs time and he never had enough, so he agreed to become Undead. As his skill increased, he built the tower to be a sacred refuge. Not just for himself, but his family._

_No, Undead Apostles can’t have children. But he timed everything carefully and he had a wife and a small family when he became part of the Crimson Moon. Family lore says he doted on them and all his descendants. They were always welcome in the tower, which was a great and beautiful refuge._

_In those days, the tower was pure magic and hostile to any intrusions, but it wasn’t what it is today. Our ancestor died in it, a victim of his enemies, and his blood soaked into the stones of the tower. It was already magic and alive, so the blood of our ancestor changed it. It has become a dark and bloodthirsty thing. It doesn’t need to eat to live – it feasts on the ley lines – but it wants blood. Oh, how it wants it._

_Yet, our ancestor anticipated that the tower might outlive him and it cannot disobey his commands. The tower still serves the family and control of it passes to the eldest son of every generation. The tower was always meant to protect children so when my father dragged me here, he informed the tower that I was a child and to be treated as such. That’s why it won’t let me leave. The tower means me no ill, but it is ruthless in its protection._

_I need the Grail to break the hold the tower has on me. I know exactly how to accomplish it – I’ve had so long to study the tower’s numbers – but I lack the power. The Grail has the power and I have the knowledge. Together, we can make freedom a reality. Oh, you can go, don’t worry about me!_

_I’ll be perfectly safe._

* * *

 

_Boss, I don’t think this is a good idea,_ Robin continued their disagreement as he dithered outside the tower, hiding in the bushes. _You know Caster is still alive!_ That was clear enough from what was happening to the ley lines. They knew where she was, too… she’d holed up in the cavern that the Grail would manifest in. It was a weird thing to do, though, for a Caster. The Grail was soaking up the energy of the ley lines there, leaving her with very little. Robin suspected Caster was no longer the one in control.

_We don’t have any choice! If we don’t get rid of Saber now, we’re never going to win this war,_ his Master said and Robin ground his teeth together. _We can just wait for Assassin and Caster to emerge, they can’t just skulk in there forever._ Why couldn’t they? Well, Robin supposed he could outlast them. _You can set up all kinds of traps around the cavern and we can pick them off but Saber HAS to die._

“I just feel like this is a mistake,” Robin muttered, feeling a deep uneasiness. Something was off. Assassin had let them go but why?

_Stop dithering and just get going! Do I have to use a Command Seal?_ His Master demanded and Robin swore quietly.

“No, no, we don’t have enough of those.” They only had two left. “Be ready to pull me out if it goes to shit.” That would be the main use of the Command Seal here, to yank him out if everything went to hell. Robin took comfort in that as he carefully moved on the Tower.

The entrance was trapped of course, with runic magic. Robin’s Master handled that, working through his minion with the help of a remote rune that he’d bought from, of all people, the Numerologists. Robin wondered if they knew about an errant member entering the Grail War. The Grail only gave two passes to the Magus Association and Saber’s Master was an unapproved third.

That wasn’t his business though. Robin had to evade numerous traps, mystical and physical, as he made his way up the stairs. The dark stone felt odd under his feet, almost… crunchy? Robin frowned, reaching up to tug on his hood. As he did, he felt something very odd.

_Robin? What is it?_ His Master asked and Robin flexed his fingers.

“My fingers feel tingly,” he muttered, flexing them again and rubbing his thumb and first finger together. “…” There was no doubt, he was losing feeling. “Tsh…” It was a minor annoyance but _weird._ Archer felt his Master scanning him.

_There’s nothing wrong that I can see. Keep going,_ his Master urged him and Robin frowned but started moving again. Hmm, a well-camoflaged rune on the stair. Robin easily jumped over it, landing smoothly on the other side. These traps were pretty juvenile, honestly. Couldn’t Saber have done better? But then, he was a Saber, not a Caster. _It’s a bit strange that we haven’t found much in the way of Mystic Codes yet. Keep an eye out for that, they might be further in._

“Right,” Robin muttered. Maybe that was it, the defenses would get tougher as he got further in. Robin moved quickly but smoothly, his feet making no sound despite the odd feeling of the stairs. After another flight, he stopped. There was no trap but… Robin tentatively tapped his foot on the floor. _Master, I can’t feel my toes._ Robin tested his hands again and found they were getting stiff.

_What the hell?_ His Master muttered and Robin was feeling very nervous as the man scanned him again. _Wait… no, there is something. It was so subtle I couldn’t pick it up. But what is it?_ Robin closed his eyes and concentrated on his body. Numbness was starting to move through his limbs and he was feeling cold… even as he thought that, Robin shivered. _Oh my god! By the power of my Command Seal –_ Robin felt a deeper chill of fear as his Master’s voice dissolved into garble.

“Master? Master!” Robin called, turning around as if he could somehow see the man. “…Shit!” He started to run down the stairs. Or rather, he tried, but then his numb feet tangled over themselves and instead he fell. Robin curled to take the fall and landed easily, but he lay gasping as he felt the cold invading his core. There was a terrible smell too and a nasty taste in his mouth… was that blood?

Then he heard footsteps and raised his head enough to see a girl walking down the stairs.

_Saber’s Master._ Robin struggled to stand, shoving himself up on hands that felt like blocks of ice. As he did, he finally saw the woman Saber called Master. A tiny girl, cute but not beautiful, she had soft brown hair falling to her shoulders and wide brown eyes. She was wearing an old-fashioned gown, light purple and frilly.

“Oh, Archer. I thought it would be you. I’m not sorry you came, but I’m sorry about what’s happening to you,” she said compassionately and Robin knew he was grasping at straws but he had to try.

“Stop it! Please, save me and I’ll swear myself to you, take your contract,” Robin wheezed, feeling the cold infecting his lungs. Her eyes softened even more but she shook her head.

“I can’t. Even if I had the mana to spare, it’s too late,” she said and Robin could feel a tug. “That won’t work. Command Seals just aren’t enough, unless you use three, and you don’t have that do you?” No, only two were left and they were gone now, Robin could feel it. “Although I’m not even sure about three… this tower is so terrible.” She was kneeling beside him and Robin would have laughed – he could easily break her neck! – but he couldn’t, not when his whole body was turning to ice. And a white haze was building. “Archer… please, will you tell me your name? So I can remember you?”

“They called me Robin, but I’m Devin. Devin of… Loxley…” Robin forced out the words as a gentle hand touched his cheek. It was the last thing he felt before the ice invaded his mana core and that horrible stench smothered him in white haze and static.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

 

Sigurd was tucked warmly in his bed, sleeping deeply, when a voice spoke in his mind.

_Sigurd, wake up._ No, he didn’t want to. _Sigurd, you have to wake up._ No! Feeling like a petulant child rejecting authority, Sigurd curled up more firmly in his blankets. He was safe and warm and happy, he wasn’t going to wake up right now. _I can’t use a command seal for something so silly but you have to wake up._ Small hands began prying at his cocoon and Sigurd muttered in irritation as cold air assaulted his body. He wasn’t ready to get up, he could still feel the deep ache in his chest that signified terrible injuries in the process of healing…

“Sigurd, wake up.” So insistent! Sigurd groaned and pried his eyes open to see Esme… kneeling over him? Even as his mind registered his position, Esme shifted and carefully rested her body against his. Sigurd blinked as her warmth replaced the lost blanket, with only a thin bit of fabric between them to keep it from being indecent.

Then Sigurd’s sleep addled mind realized that wasn’t right. There was no thin piece of fabric, nothing but soft skin. His eyes flared wide just as Esme pressed her lips against his. It was a soft, tentative kiss from an innocent girl and Sigurd felt intoxicated by it. He reached up to gently cup the back of his head even as he sent her a thought. _This is how you kiss a man, princess._ The kiss deepened, gentle but passionate. Sigurd loved every moment of it, along with Esme’s body, pressed so teasingly against him.

“You need mana,” Esme said breathlessly as they parted and Sigurd shook his head, holding her gently in his arms.

“No, I need you,” he murmured in his ear, feeling the truth of it in his soul. “I am a widower now.” Was this what the modern era called _closure?_ Sigurd only knew that he would remember Brynhildr and always love her, but he was ready to move on. And painful as it was, that was right. “I love you, my princess, my darling Esme,” Sigurd murmured and felt her shudder, saw a suspicious wetness in her eyes. He kissed her again and it held all the passion in the world. She was tense against him, though, and Sigurd could easily sense her fear. “Relax, princess, and let me show you how a man makes love to a woman.”

“S-Sigurd… oh…!” Esme gasped as he reversed their positions. Just that small movement caused a sharp pain in his chest and Sigurd gasped, resting his forehead on the pillow for a moment. His arms shook as he took his own weight. “Oh, your injuries, Sigurd…!” Her hands were on his chest, helping to hold him up even as more gentle healing touched him, dulling the pain.

“It’s nothing. I can do this,” Sigurd said, lifting his head and gazing into her face. “I want to do this.” Ah, how he wanted it! Ignoring the aches and pains and weakness, Sigurd lowered his face to her breasts. Tiny but beautifully formed, with beautiful pink tips, they tasted delicious as he began exploring them, drawing her nipples into his mouth. Esme’s gasp was beautiful to hear.

The foreplay was not very active. Sigurd could not bear to move too much so he favored Esme with soft kisses, attention to her breasts, even as he slid a hand between her legs. Ah, she was damp but not enough. Sweet Esme was a virgin and Sigurd knew she needed more than that… Sigurd carefully hid his pain as he moved down to kneel between her legs. Esme lifted herself, settling on her elbows as she stared at him wide-eyed.

“Sigurd, what are you…?” she asked breathlessly and Sigurd smiled up at her as he gripped her thighs.

“I am going to pleasure you, princes,” Sigurd said easily. Brynhildr had always loved it when he did this… the thought made him feel warm inside as he settled to his task. Her sex was soft and warm, as he teased her gently with his tongue, moving through her folds. Esme’s gasp was sweet as he ran his tongue along that tiny organ that the Grail knowledge informed him was a _clitoris._ Sigurd paused to suck it, treating it very gently. Esme was making soft, sweet sounds and Sigurd gently eased a finger inside her. He wasn’t expecting that to take Esme over the edge but it did and Sigurd was very pleased as he felt her sex quiver and flex, the tiny yet heartfelt cry she gave as her thighs clamped tight to his head. Sigurd teased her until he sensed that she was done, before pulling away. As he did, he paused to regard her with a smile. Esme had collapsed to the bed and was breathing heavily, her eyes wide and expression blissful.

“Was that your first orgasm, Esme?” Sigurd asked and she blushed before nodding. Sigurd smiled, moving back up her body. “I’m glad I was the one to give it to you,” he murmured in Esme’s ear as they lay together.

“I’m… glad too… but I still need to give you mana,” Esme murmured after a moment and Sigurd chuckled softly before favoring her with another soft kiss. His own erection was aching with need for her, it was true, but he needed to give her a moment to recover.

“Indeed, we’ll do that princess,” Sigurd said as he held her close. Ah, his lovely Esme would be so wet now, perfectly ready for him. After giving her a bit of time to cool down, Sigurd began working on her again, gently exploring her mouth and breasts. When he judged that she was ready, Sigurd settled between Esme’s thighs and entered her in a quick, smooth jerk.

“Oh…!” Esme’s soft gasp mimicked his own, as Sigurd experienced an incredible heat and tightness. Ah, Esme was almost unbearably tight! Just like Brynhildr had been… looking into her face, Sigurd saw Esme was biting her bottom lip and there was a trace of dampness at the corner of her eye. He reached up to wipe it away with his thumb. “It… hurts… but feels… so good…”

“That’s good… that’s… good…” Sigurd managed to say before he began to move. His body had needs as well, he needed to satisfy them… Esme’s gasp was not just pain, no, and Sigurd hoped the ache would fade quickly even as he began to truly take her. He needed this, ah, he needed it!

Fortunately his hopes materialized and Esme looked at him with lust hazed eyes as her thighs gripped him. Her passage still gripped him tightly but not as much, loosening a bit as he took her virginity away. Sigurd kissed her, passionately, as he continued to thrust into that tight heat, claiming his princess for his own. _I love you Esme. I love you so much._ There could be no lies at a moment like this and Esme shuddered beneath him.

_Sigurd, oh Sigurd I don’t deserve you my perfect prince I love you too I love you…_ Their emotions entwined with their bodies and Sigurd loved every moment as he brought Esme closer and closer to orgasm. He was getting their himself, oh yes, this pleasure was overwhelming any semblance of control and Sigurd found himself taking her hard and faster. No, he was losing control, this was too much… but Esme’s gasps were of pleasure and Sigurd could not hold himself back. Then Esme cried out a second time, her sex tightening insanely around him and Sigurd gasped as pleasure overwhelmed his mind. Sparks flashed behind his eyes as he found completion, spending himself in his beloved princess. As he did, a tide, no, a tidal wave of mana rushed into his body. It was perfect and shining and Sigurd felt his wounds healing, the pain vanishing away.

Then exhaustion hit him and Sigurd slumped, barely managing to take his own weight. Esme’s hand gently touched his cheek and she was the one to maneuver him onto his side and separate their bodies.

“You have a bit of time, but just a bit. Rest Sigurd, rest,” she murmured and Sigurd wondered what the rush was. They surely had time… but he was too exhausted to question it, his body digesting the mana and using it to heal his wounds. Murmuring a soft affirmative, Sigurd closed his eyes and gave into the temptation to rest.

In a mere hour or two, he would be fully healed. He could question Esme then.


	10. Chapter 10

_I want someone to spend my life with._

_I don’t care if he’s fat or thin, if he’s short or tall, young or old. I just want him to not mind the numbers. To let me work on my numbers and maybe hug me a little and tell me I’ve done well. I want him to have supper with me and tell me about his day. I want to wake up with him in the morning, say goodbye when he leaves and hello when he arrives. I just want these little things. Is it too much to ask?_

_“Esme, your numbers are so boring! Don’t you ever think of anything else?”_

_“It will be difficult to arrange a marriage for her, with those mediocre mage circuits.”_

_“Her appearance is acceptable, if barely.”_

_“You couldn’t find a husband anyway with as boring as you are.”_

_Please, not that. Anything but that. Just let him be kind. I don’t ask much really, just don’t mind the numbers, please don’t mind the numbers._

_Is it too much to ask to find someone kind?_

* * *

Sigurd woke from his rest with the taste of hopeless longing in his mouth.

_That dream._ Sigurd opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, not seeing the dark stone as his mind truly came to wakefulness. That was Esme’s dream, he knew it was, and for that dream to come at this particular time… _Oh, princess._ Sigurd rolled onto his side to look at his Master. Esme was cuddled into the pink blankets, her face relaxed and innocent in sleep. _She doesn’t know she’s loveable._ Sigurd felt a deep sadness as he gazed into her sleeping face. It would take years to fix this, years of time and patience and simply being there, proving he loved her with his simple presence.

As Sigurd watched her, Esme’s eyelids fluttered and she made a soft huff. Adorable. Smiling, Sigurd reached out to cup her face. She sighed at his touch and her eyes finally opened. Their gazes met in a moment of perfect warmth and love.

“I love you princess,” Sigurd murmured, feeling the truth of it in his soul. He’d fallen in love again and had no regrets. Esme nuzzled his hand for a moment before her eyes suddenly sharpened. She sat up so quickly that her breasts bounced, to Sigurd’s interest.

“Oh no! I fell asleep!” Yes, that would be normal after mana transfer. It was hugely draining for the donor. “Sigurd, I love you too but you have to go right now and save the town!” Wait, what?

“What?” Sigurd sat up as well, the soft blankets pooling around his waist. “What has been happening?” It was a bit absurd, getting a mission briefing in bed but any levity quickly fled as Sigurd listened to Esme’s story.

“Assassin turned on Caster but she’s still alive. We know because she’s still draining the ley lines, but from the cavern the Grail is housed in.” That… was a sub-optimal strategy at best, mystically speaking, but Sigurd could see why Assassin would favor it. That cavern had only one entrance and it was easily guarded. “Archer came into the tower and died – “ Well, that was a shame. Sigurd felt a real pang at the thought, although he’d expected it. “And just after, Caster drained everyone in the town.” Esme wrung her hands together, truly distraught. “Sigurd, they’re all unconscious!” Sigurd swallowed at the thought. “Archer’s Master is trying to keep everyone alive, he’s in the hospital right now looking after the babies since they’ll dehydrate more quickly but some have gone home, we must have lost some…” Oh dear gods.

“Archer’s Master is working with us? Why?” Sigurd asked, trying to clarify if the Master could be trusted. Esme rubbed her eyes for a moment.

“Yes, because even the Church Overseer is unconscious. That means if he doesn’t do something to stop this, he’ll take the blame with the Clock Tower.” Sigurd concentrated on his knowledge of the Clock Tower. Did that make sense? …Yes, it did actually, magus’ were obligated to stop ‘heretics’, magi who harmed humans. Not that they cared about a single human here and there, but a whole town? Yes, he WOULD take the blame if they all died. “He thinks I will too, but he doesn’t understand.” No, of course not. “Sigurd, Assassin has many bodies… I think he knew about the Tower. He must have sent one in and it died and was so weak we didn’t notice.” Sigurd closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yes, that’s likely,” he murmured as he thought about it. Confident in the deadliness of the tower, they’d set up traps solely to draw enemies in. It would look odd if there weren’t any after all. What they hadn’t done was set up much in the way of detection fields. Why would they? What did it matter if the enemy was stealthy when they were supposed to get in? “Princess, this is a trap.” Sigurd could see it clearly. Assassin had waited for Archer to get himself killed, then forced Caster to drain the town. Now he was holed up in a highly defensible position with the entire town for hostages.

“I know, but we have no choice. You have to go in,” Esme said softly and Sigurd nodded, resolve firming. There was no choice. “The Grail must have manifested. Sigurd… do you think you can reach it and touch it? At any cost?” Any cost?

“I’m certain I can,” Sigurd said slowly. Protecting the Grail would not really occur to Assassin because – “But with three Servants outstanding, no one can win.” And doing so would leave him hideously vulnerable to Assassin’s attacks. Esme bit her lower lip for a moment and Sigurd blinked at the odd feeling he was getting from her. “Esme?” She felt very reluctant and… afraid?

“Sigurd, I… didn’t tell you things about me, because I didn’t want to frighten you but now I have to,” Esme said almost inaudibly and Sigurd blinked. Frighten him? That sounded absurd and yet… Esme pulled the blankets up over herself, a protective gesture. “The Grail wasn’t meant for someone like me. If the Einzberns were still here, they would have tried to block me because I… can see the Numbers of it. The Command Seals link me to it and I can see how it works.” Sigurd waited patiently for Esme to come to the point. He was sure she would get there. “It’s two things, a cup of power and the machinery to throw that power at the barriers to the Root, to let a magus get in.” Yes, he knew that. “I don’t need the machinery at all. I just need the power and four Servants is enough.” …Ah.

“So if I reach the Grail, you can take control of the power,” Sigurd supplied and Esme nodded, eyes downcast. “But what good does that do us, princess?” If she used it to break the hold the tower had on her, Assassin would surely kill them both out of pure revenge.

“That’s… the part I didn’t tell you… it didn’t do any good anyway when I was caught here but… Sigurd, my magic is all about making the Imaginary into the Real. But it can… do the opposite,” Esme said haltingly and Sigurd frowned. Esme reached out to touch his hand, their fingers tangling together for a moment and Sigurd gave her a comforting squeeze. Then Esme let go, but only to trail her hands lower, gripping his forearm right before his elbow. “I can’t do anything like this with something physical but Servants are just mana so I can see their Numbers, change them if I work very hard but… the easiest thing of all… is to just make them disappear.” Esme’s hands suddenly clamped tight and before Sigurd’s fascinated and horrified eyes, his hand and forearm vanished into sparkles of blue mana. It was perhaps the strangest thing he’d ever felt, as his mind tried to comprehend that part of him was no longer there. A strange feeling of pins and needles where there was nothing to feel… then Esme released his arm and it quickly reformed. Sigurd turned his hand over and made a fist, looking at what seemed to be firm flesh. He’d know they were nothing but spirits but to be reminded so clearly…

“Bane of all things spiritual,” Sigurd murmured, still shaken. But his mind was working clearly and he understood. “The Imaginary Element.” Esme’s Magic was based in the Imaginary Element, which primarily dealt with things that were not real. Esme’s Numbers were so impressive that he hadn’t considered how her Magic would interact with spirits. “So if I can reach the Grail and summon you away from the tower, you can destroy Assassin.” Caster too for that matter. Esme nodded, still downcast.

“If I were free of the tower this war would already be over,” she said softly and Sigurd thought that was absolutely true. He knew precisely how he would have used this… take care of enemies himself, saving this power for the very last. Rider, yes, perhaps they’d have kept Rider alive and manipulated him into destroying their other enemies. That cursed golden armor of his would fracture into nothing under Esme’s gaze. Instead, they’d needed to eliminate him first… Sigurd pulled his mind away from thoughts of strategy to look at his Master and lover.

“I’m not afraid of you Esme,” Sigurd said gently. Even after seeing her incredible power, he could not conceive of being _afraid_ of her. Although Sigurd was bitterly certain Esme’s parents had been. “This is a great power and a beautiful gift.” What else could she do? Esme was still very young and hadn’t that other Magician defeated the Crimson Moon? What could Esme’s Magic do? The thought captured his imagination and Sigurd wanted to find out. But to do that… “I should get going.” Sigurd slid out of bed and called up his armor. Esme hurriedly moved to her feet.

“I’ll get everything ready for when you call me.” That meant gathering all the precious gems and metals she could. They’d already discussed it and while Esme had no money, they could sell all of that to a jeweler to get them started, with the help of a bit of magic to get a fair price. Sigurd nodded before moving around the bed and cupping Esme’s cheek with one hand. He drew her into a soft, tender kiss.

“We will win, princess,” Sigurd murmured and hoped he wasn’t lying. Assassin would be ready for him, he was walking into a trap and it was going to be hard. But Sigurd was determined to do it anyway. Esme smiled, her eyes a bit damp, before she hugged him tightly.

“Sigurd, even if we don’t, just remember how happy you’ve made me,” Esme said as Sigurd returned the hug, gauntleted hands resting gently on pale skin.

“It will be fine Esme,” Sigurd murmured, looking down at her glossy brown hair. She looked better than he had when he’d arrived, healthier and gaining a bit of weight. He wanted to keep that progress going. “But I must go.” She let go with a nod and Sigurd’s last sight of her was Esme beginning to pull on her clothing before he left the room and headed down the steps of the tower.

It was time to bring the Grail War to a resounding conclusion.

* * *

 

Medea could not recall being this furious since the day she learned that Jason had betrayed her.

_I was going to keep my promise! I knew how to do it!_ Medea had dealt with Assassin fairly. His/her problem of multiple personalities could be remedied, when she had the Grail within her grasp. Medea understood quite well that it was nothing but a cup of power, and that was fine. She was a Sorceress from the Age of Gods. Given such a vast reservoir of power, Medea could accomplish miracles. _Why?!?_ Brynhildr had been nothing but a slave but Assassin had been a partner, or so she’d thought.

_We do not trust you, Witch of Betrayal._ Oh, the rage those words caused! Medea wanted to turn Assassin into nothing but a bloody mess but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because…

A small whimper attracted her attention and Medea glanced towards the girl she called Master. Only thirteen years old, she was a slender child with soft blond hair and round blue eyes. She was also a foolish little girl, but who wasn’t at that age? Medea remembered the conversation they’d had right after her summoning.

_I want to be a witch like you!_

_Sorceress._

_Um, what?_

_Witch is a derogatory term. I am a sorceress._

_Oh… okay! I want to be a sorceress like you!_

Such a silly child. Medea could easily forgive her, since to her Master ‘witch’ meant all kinds of things, both positive and negative, that it hadn’t when she was alive. And fortunately, it wasn’t just an idle dream. Her Master was the child of a local magus, orphaned at a young age, but after the basic lessons and awakening of her mage circuits. It wasn’t easy for Medea to teach her – her magic was quite different – but she had been managing.

Now her Master had a knife at her throat, held by the steady hand of an Assassin and Medea was forced to comply with the loathsome creature’s demands. Medea would never have drained the townsfolk this way except under duress. She knew some of them would die, but she had no choice if she wanted her Master to live and Medea hadn’t given up yet. There might be an opportunity when Saber walked into this trap.

_He will come. The only question is, can Assassin handle him?_ Medea knew that Assassin was a touch worried about it but also resolute. For them, it was their best chance. The Master was out of reach and any fair confrontation with Saber would destroy them, so they’d arranged the most unfair one they could. _But is it unfair enough?_ That was the question. Medea just knew that she’d be ready to kill the Assassin with a knife to her Master’s throat at the first chance. And then, there would be hell to pay.

Medea felt it as Sigurd hit the first of the traps Assassin had forced her to set. She closed her eyes, monitoring his progress. He was handling the magic intelligently, as she would have expected, and they weren’t Medea’s best efforts. Assassin could force her cooperation but only grudgingly. The traps Assassin had set himself, though, fared better. Medea felt Saber’s progress slowing and her lips tightened. He would make it into the cavern, but in what kind of shape?

The answer was not very good. Saber burst into the cavern and Medea stifled a curse. He was moving well, his eyes clear and steady with purpose but Medea could sense the poisons in him, a cursed miasma. They would get worse and worse with time and that was precisely what Saber did not have. The Assassins were fighting for maximum delay, trying to wear him out and let the poison take effect. How could he possibly destroy them all?

Medea quickly realized, though, that Sigurd wasn’t even trying to destroy all the Assassin fragments. Her position on the sidelines gave her a unique perspective and she soon understood that Saber was trying to reach the Grail. She wet her lips, sneaking a glance at the Assassin who held her Master. Dare she do something?

“Use your magic, Caster,” the Assassin suddenly commanded, to Medea’s surprise. “Attack Saber or I will kill her.” A bit of blood slid down her Master’s throat and Medea felt a combination of rage and exultation. _Command me to act? Very well!_

She spat out several words and the gust of wind that hit Saber looked very showy, and did some damage, but what it _really_ did was toss Sigurd across the cavern. He tumbled with the wind and landed neatly on the upraised platform that housed the Chalice of the Grail. Medea held her breath as a gauntleted hand closed on the Chalice.

Nothing should have happened. Medea knew that, yet she was not surprised when power exploded from the vessel in brilliant gold light. She felt it being sucked away, transferred somewhere else… then came back, flowing into a form. Medea’s eyes widened as she saw a woman appear. A young girl with brown hair, fresh faced and glowing with golden light, carrying a bag over her back.

“ _Zaban – “_ Assassin’s words died as the woman looked at them. Medea felt a shiver of fear as she sensed a power far beyond her own, what this era called _true magic._ She sensed Assassin breaking into shards, mana cores rupturing and vanishing under the weight of that gaze. That gaze turned to her for a moment and Medea met her eyes, expecting to die… but nothing happened. Instead the woman turned her attention to Saber and Medea felt more power flow out of the Grail as the girl did… what?

Medea watched carefully and felt the Master binding her Servant, not to herself, but to something much greater. And she sensed Sigurd’s base structure change, flowing into something that was not stronger yet vastly more complex. Was he a Caster now, in addition to a Saber? What a lethal combination. A small, pale hand was gripped by a gauntleted one and Medea felt envious as she watched them together and saw the beautiful smile on Saber’s face, the matching smile from his Master.

Then they both turned to look at her and Medea readied herself, although she knew she had no real hope against a Saber and nothing left to fight for, with the Grail already drained. Then, though, they surprised her.

“…!” Medea felt the dredges of the Grail energies wash over her and wavered on her feet as it made a connection similar to Sigurd’s. Blinking, she tried to analyze it and realized it was a direct connection to Akasha, the Swirl of the Root, where souls originated from and returned to. But it granted her no insights, no special abilities… just a small stream of power to maintain herself and her link to her Master. _But why?_ Why were they allowing her to live beyond the Grail War?

“Why?” Medea asked as her Master collapsed to her knees and began to cry. It was Saber that answered as his Master went to the girl to comfort her. Medea barely paid attention as the Magician gently patted her Master on the back, whispering soothing words.

“Caster is the weakest class. I do not forgive you for what you did to Brynhildr, but I understand.” Medea met his eyes and saw a sad weariness there. “And I must repay my debt. Without your gust of wind, I might have lost this battle and failed my Master. I do not know what your wish is, but you have time now to find a way yourself.” Time… yes, she had time now. How much? Probably as long as her Master was alive and she was a young girl. So quite a bit of time.

“I see,” Medea said slowly before smiling. It was a bitter smile, tart as an unripe persimmon. “I want to hate you, warrior.” Hate him for winning, for taking the prize, and just for being the kind of man she craved… yet completely out of reach. Still. “But I’ll take your ‘gift’, even if my wish is impossible now.” Her truest wish had been to see her homeland again. Medea would accept that it was now out of her grasp and turn her attentions to something else. Speaking of which… Medea turned her attention to her Master. She was already calming, thankfully.

“Lily, we need to leave this place.” The cavern seemed stable yet Medea was not willing to stay a moment longer. Her Master sniffled but rose to her feet.

“Medea… you’re going to stay and teach me?” Medea stifled a sigh and wished her Master hadn’t said her name, although Sigurd and his Master were no longer her enemies.

“Yes, I suppose so.” It would be a good start and Medea was finding she enjoyed teaching. Glancing at Sigurd she easily understood that Saber did not want her behind him. Trusting to his sense of honor, Medea gently escorted her Master out of the cavern. Sigurd and his Master followed, making not a sound but Medea was sure they were conversing mentally.

When they were out of the cavern, though, something very interesting happened.

“So, you’ve won.” The rather portly magus with the comb-over said nastily. Medea moved to the side, keeping a hand firmly on her Master’s shoulder as she felt an aura of anger rise from Saber. “I will be lodging a formal protest with your Department, Numerologist – “

“My Master is not a Numerologist, she is _the_ Numerologist!” Sigurd said sharply, rounding on the man. Medea saw his eyes suddenly widen at the intimidating presence of such a powerful Servant. “Her family steals her works and passes them off as their own! Poseurs and frauds, my Esme is the only true Numerologist to exist!” The man swallowed and took a step back.

“Sigurd…” A small hand gently touched an armored arm and the girl looked at her fellow Master. “My family already knows I’ve escaped. Please, go home and tell them I will never come back.” Medea could see a subtle tension in Sigurd’s back and mentally shook her head. This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all.

Medea spat out a quick incantation and Sigurd swept Esme to the side just as she expected. Her magic flashed through the space they had been occupying and hit the other Master. His shields withstood it for barely an instant before it flashed through and shredded flesh. Medea looked at the splattered remains without sympathy or remorse, feeling her Master trembling by her side.

“Why…” Esme’s whisper was very loud in the sudden silence and Medea looked at her. Sigurd was silent and grim and as their eyes met, Medea saw he understood. Still, she would explain it.

“He knew I was still alive, girl. For the sake of myself and my Master, he had to die,” Medea said and saw the girl swallow, her eyes large as she looked at the corpse. Such a sheltered girl. “And he knew the name of your Servant. Did you truly want to let him go?” Esme looked at Sigurd and Medea could almost see them mentally speaking to each other. The Master’s shoulders sagged for a moment before straightening, resolute.

“Sigurd says you’re right, his mistake was coming here, in his anger over losing,” she said and Medea nodded. Putting himself in easy reach had been a horrible misstep. “If he hadn’t done that, we might have decided hunting him down would take too long.” Yes and Medea might have forgotten Archer’s erstwhile Master entirely. “This is a lesson to me… thank you.” Medea wanted to hate her, just as much as Sigurd. For holding such beautiful power, for being so similar to herself… yet having the loyalty of a good man. It was painful to see and envy was such a poisonous emotion. Yet, it was also stupid and Medea mastered the impulse before managing a thin smile.

“You’re welcome. Farewell,” she said cordially before turning to her Master and casting an enchantment. They flew away together, her Master quickly recovering from the violence and asking where they would go next. Medea answered with half her mind on it, considering the future. She had a great deal of time now, how would she spend it? Well, she could try to achieve True Incarnation. That would let her truly experience life again.

And perhaps, just perhaps, she could find her own strong, quiet man in glasses.


	11. Chapter 11

Sigurd carried Esme in his arms, the tarnkappa swirling around them both, as he ran easily towards his goal. There was only one lake in the area and he was mindful of his promise to Brynhildr. As he ran, though, Sigurd pondered what had occurred.

_I want to hate her as much as she wants to hate me,_ Sigurd had felt that emotion from Medea and he even guessed the cause. And yet… _Her final action renders it moot._ He’d been doomed, he’d felt it as the poisons ate away at him despite Esme’s best efforts. That gust of wind had changed everything. _I must set it all aside._ It was painful as Sigurd remembered Brynhildr’s pure misery, but out of fairness and gratitude, he would set aside his grudge towards Caster.

His mind centered and ready to face more unpleasantness, Sigurd arrived at the lake and gently set Esme on her feet. As he did, he considered the time frame involved. The body would have been in the lake for at least five days…

“Esme, can you gather some dry wood while I try to locate the remains?” Sigurd said, knowing it would require magic. Esme nodded, reaching up to adjust the large golden barrettes in her hair. They were in the shape of starfish, centered with very large sapphires and they were actually her defensive Numbers. Any threat would activate them and they were potent enough to give Sigurd plenty of time to reach her.

“I’ll get some right away,” Esme said with a small smile before scampering into the woods. Sigurd knelt by the bank of the lake and traced a water rune. As he did, he felt an extra depth and potency to the rune. He was still a Saber but now he was also a Caster. Yet, how could that be true?

Pondering the matter… he would need to question Esme about it, and soon… Sigurd searched the lake for taints. He had to move around and sample the water in various locations, but he reasoned the body would be near the shore and easy to find. He was right about that… soon, Sigurd located it and gazed at the corpse with tight lips. It was as unpleasant as he’d envisioned.

Thanking the gods that he was now a Caster, Sigurd employed air runes to lift the body and gather a few errant bits. Where was Esme… ah, right over there, he could see her placing wood. Sigurd quickly set off, the body floating behind him.

When he arrived, Esme’s eyes went wide and she put a hand over her mouth. Sigurd regretted not warning her as she swallowed, hard.

“Are you alright princess?” Sigurd asked in concern, quickly going to her side. Esme swallowed again before nodding, averting her gaze from the corpse.

“It’s just the smell…” Yes, it was truly awful. Sigurd had encountered as bad, in the aftermath of battle, but never any worse. “I’m fine. Sigurd, does this look good?” Sigurd looked at the pile of wood and was shocked by how much she’d gathered. How could one small girl…? But then a beautiful golden starfish, much larger than the barrettes that were missing from her hair, floated out of the woods with a nice piece of wood clutched in its tentacles.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t aware those were familiars as well as defenses,” Sigurd said, a bit bemused, as Esme took the wood and looked it over for a moment. She flashed him a smile before adding it to the pile.

“They were a commission from my family. I think they were going to be a gift for someone very important but they’re mine now,” Esme said with pleasure and Sigurd smiled at the thought. “They’re very basic though… I have to check all the wood because they can’t tell if something is wet or dry.” Ah. “But I was able to tell them the right size to bring.”

“Yes, it is perfect,” Sigurd said warmly before arranging the wood a bit more. He knew exactly how a funeral pyre should be, after far too many times… when it was set to his satisfaction he floated the body onto it, settling it into the wood. “Go to rest with the gods. I am sure you have a place in Valhalla,” Sigurd murmured as he traced the rune for fire.

The pyre went up quickly and the smell became much different but even worse, causing them both to retreat as it burned. Sigurd held Esme as he watched it burn, feeling a deep regret in his heart. _I’m sorry things didn’t go better for you, my beloved Brynhildr._ Sigurd felt sadly certain that her Master had been a good person, to remind her of him…

They waited until the fire was guttering and clearly would not spread. Then Sigurd lifted Esme in his arms again, considering where to go. The town? Yes, the town, but only for the purpose of stealing a car, if they could. Sigurd had the Riding skill… wait a moment.

_Can I do that?_ Sigurd wondered, glancing down at Esme. She was gazing up at him with trusting eyes. _Princess, can you give me mana?_ His supplies were crushingly low. Esme nodded and Sigurd felt the change, her mage circuits activating and giving him a gentle flood of mana. Sigurd concentrated on manifesting a Noble Phantasm.

To his shock, it worked. A great horse appeared, a dark stallion with a flowing mane and majestic appearance. Sigurd felt a great warmth in his heart and smiled as the horse snorted and pawed at the earth, impatient to begin.

“Grani, it has been so long,” Sigurd murmured. Then he smiled and lifted Esme up, making her squeak. It was the work of a moment to settle her in front of the saddle and then Sigurd pulled himself aboard. “Have you ever been on a horse before, princess?” Sigurd wasn’t sure, horseback riding seemed like the kind of thing a magus might do. Esme squeaked again.

“N-No – eep!” Sigurd set his steed off at a slow trot and almost laughed as poor Esme bounced. Well, he knew how to fix that.

“It’s all about timing, princess. Let me show you…” Sigurd instructed her as they rode and soon Esme was getting the hang of moving with the horse. It was only for her own comfort, fortunately… she couldn’t hurt Grani… but it would make the trip far more bearable. Hmm. “Esme, I seem to be every possible class. How is this possible?” His summoning was fundamentally different than it had been from the Grail. Esme was silent for a moment as they rode.

“When I had the Grail, I needed to use most of the power to free myself from the tower. Sigurd, I did more than that though… I changed the tower so it won’t recognize me ever again.” Excellent. “And my family too. It doesn’t belong to anyone anymore, it’s just a death trap.” Even better! Sigurd had been worried about the fact that the tower bent time and space. It could be used to cover vast distances quickly. “That left enough energy to tie you directly to Akasha… and when I did that, it provided all of your records.” Ah? “I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to… it just pulled out everything and gave it to you.” Hmm… interesting.

“I feel like I have much less mana though,” Sigurd mused, considering what he was feeling. A thin but steady trickle of mana from a source outside himself and the more direct support of Esme’s mage circuits, that were currently maintaining Grani. Esme nodded.

“The Grail gave you more. Now it’s just me and the Root… I think the Root would give you more, much more, if there was a threat to Humanity.” Sigurd glanced to the side at a movement and saw it was nothing but a bird, startled out of hiding by the intruders in the forest. They were following a small footpath that from what Sigurd should tell, would eventually lead to the road. “But it won’t do that just for me.”

“But I’m a Caster now, which means as soon as we settle in, I can do it for myself,” Sigurd supplied, feeling a deep pleasure at the thought. He could draw on the ley lines now and store the mana within his body, giving himself a vast reservoir, just as Caster had done. And then he could use it to empower his other Noble Phantasms, his Grani and his Gram. “Am I right in thinking I am more powerful this way?” Or was he missing something? Esme turned in her seat so she could look at him, a smile on her face.

“Ultimately you will be but right now we’re very vulnerable.” That sobered Sigurd because it was true. His mana was so low and while Esme could maintain Grani just moving around, could she do much more? Likely she could let him unleash Grani or Gram just once, but it would leave her prostrated. The support of the Grail had been great. “We have to move quickly to scramble the trail.” …Hm.

“Can you give me more Esme?” Sigurd asked, a bit carefully. He did not want to ask for too much. Esme’s brow furrowed and more mana flowed into him. Sigurd judged it just enough and used it to unlock something a touch stronger.

Grani’s stride jumped in speed yet became impossibly smooth. Esme gasped and Sigurd held onto her gently as trees blurred by, sliding into a road. They ran down faster than most cars could travel, yet with perfect control and Sigurd internally exulted. If they could maintain this for even an hour, they would reach a large metropolis. Then they could glamor and bedazzle their way onto a plane to the isles of Scandinavia. Sigurd wanted the boost to his power that his native land would give him. And then…

_Let them give us enough time. Just enough time._ If Sigurd could settle into a leyline and build his Territory, anyone the Clock Tower sent would be doomed. But if they struck before that… _Let them give us enough time._

Just enough time.

* * *

 

Sigurd realized something was wrong when they boarded the airplane.

Esme knew nothing of the normal world so Sigurd needed to remain materialized, by her side, as they bedazzled and beglamored their way onto a plane. So he thought little of the stares and whispers. Even in his own day, when he’d rode into a strange village, everyone had stared at his hair, his glasses, his demeanor. In this modern world, where humans were bronze instead of silver, how could it be otherwise? So Sigurd thought nothing of it.

He realized his assumptions were faulty aboard the plane.

_Sigurd, why is everyone staring at me?_ Esme’s mental voice was the tiniest of whispers as she huddled as close as the airplane seat allowed. Sigurd glanced around, deeply concerned as he realized she was absolutely right. Every eye was upon her and Sigurd could not imagine why. Esme was a pretty girl but she was not striking and alien like Brynhildr, nor a darkly beautiful Queen like Gudrun. And the attention she was receiving was bizarre. Most of the plane seemed to be enchanted with her and many of the women, including the flight attendant, were suspicious of HIM! Several of the young men seemed to think they’d fallen in love, judging from the jealous and calf-eyed glances. But there were also negative reactions… several people changed their seats to move away from Esme and Sigurd saw one old man muttering darkly as he glared at her. What was going on? Sigurd tried to puzzle it out and suddenly remembered. A little girl walking through the Roots of Yggdrasil, absorbing the energy of pure life without a care in the world…

_Esme, are you emitting something from the Root? Can you compare yourself to them?_ Sigurd asked urgently and with a direction to put her mind to, Esme focused on the problem. Sigurd saw her eyes go unfocused as her attention turned to her Numbers.

_Oh Sigurd, you’re right!_ Sigurd relaxed a little at the confirmation. If this was the problem they could surely fix it. _How did I never notice before? Oh… probably because the shields of a magus would defeat it._ Hmm… but did it defeat it entirely or just reduce it? Sigurd’s lips tightened as he thought of a reason Esme’s family might dislike her. Were they among the repulsed? _I’m sure I can do something, let me see._ Sigurd waited patiently, smiling gently at the flight attendant as she offered them juice and water while watching him like a hawk. A protective reaction, interesting.

Sigurd knew when Esme found the key. The attention on her lessened, as she became just an ordinary girl to the other passengers. Many of them seemed puzzled, glancing away and back, while a few of the young men were disappointed in the change. And the suspicion against him seemed to lessen, although now he was catching looks of his own. Well, that couldn’t be helped. Sigurd was only glad they were looking at him and not Esme.

_Is it difficult, princess? Can you maintain it?_ Sigurd asked as Esme took a tiny bite of a crème cookie they’d been given. Her brows knit at the taste and she shook her head before putting it aside.

_It’s fine, it’s very easy. I just have to lessen my connection to the Root._ Sigurd frowned to himself. That would make it difficult for her to access Akasha for extra mana. _And it doesn’t want to seem to give me mana anyway._ It didn’t? _I think it reacts to urgent need and I don’t really need it now._

_I see._ That did explain why the Root had been willing to supply Esme during the Grail War. She’d only accessed it at the direst of times, as well. _Well, we’ll be in Helsinki soon._ That was where the flight was going. Sigurd had no idea if Helsinki was close to his ancestral homeland, but he suspected any place that considered him an ancestral hero would do. And if he didn’t feel any increase in power, they’d go to Stockholm.

_Mmm hmm, only a few hours. I have the translation spells ready,_ Esme said brightly and Sigurd smiled to himself, pleased to see she was enthusiastic. He’d been a bit afraid that his Esme would be terrified of the modern world and she was frightened, to be sure, but she was also enthralled. He’d already stopped her from kneeling so she could look beneath a car to see its innards. Sigurd suspected Esme would soon be devouring books on every sort of subject.

As soon as they left the airplane, departing via the disembarking tube, Sigurd knew they would need to travel no further. Strength seemed to travel up his legs, imparting a power independent of the Root or Esme. _So this is regional fame._ Sigurd slowly breathed in the air, finding it held an extra richness. _I will use this gift well._ He just needed to set up his Territory and he would be nearly invincible.

Their first stop was a bookstore in the airplane terminal. Sigurd wanted one thing from it… a map of both Helsinki and Finland in general. His idea was that they’d pause in the city, taking a hotel room – Esme desperately needed rest – then make their way out at dawn. Sigurd would use Grani again and they would trace the leylines until the found a good nexus that was near a town. That was more likely than it sounded, humans seemed to gravitate to such things, even with no knowledge of their presence. Although before they got the hotel room, they would need to find a jeweler to sell the contents of Esme’s bag. Sigurd made a mental note before carefully tracing a rune of air, keyed to cause distraction to everyone who might see, before pocketing the maps. He purposefully moved to find Esme and was amused to see she had her nose buried deeply into a book. Hmm, who was Stephen Hawking?

“Esme, we need to go.” Sigurd interrupted her reading gently and Esme started, blushing as she quickly put the book away. Sigurd caught her longing glance back as they left the bookstore. “We’ll have plenty of books someday,” he said to bolster her and Esme nodded with a small smile.

“I want a great library like the one my parents have in their manor.” The place she’d lived most of her life, until she’d been dragged to the tower. The tower had only the dregs, the bits and pieces of books that her family did not want. Sigurd smiled a little at the thought.

“I would love that as well.” In his day and age, books had been nearly unknown, terribly laborious things. Sigurd could remember the scrolls Regin had forced him to learn from, old and musty things that had been painted onto sheepskin by hand. Sometimes, Sigurd wondered why the old dwarf had taught him that at all. Truthfully, he thought it had just been a reflex… to dwarves, illiteracy was unthinkable. Once he’d gotten the hang of it, though, Sigurd had loved reading. He’d been terribly disappointed when he realized how few scrolls there were in the world. Shaking away those thoughts, Sigurd escorted Esme out of the airport to begin their search for a convenient hotel. There should be some near the airport, Sigurd’s knowledge of the modern era told him that clearly. As they walked, Sigurd looked up at the slightly overcast but still pleasant day and felt a warm pleasure in his heart.

They were on the right track now, he could feel it.


	12. Chapter 12

Sigurd smiled as he carried a bucket of water by hand to the dilapidated farmhouse that served as their new home.

Compared to the tower, it was a pile of refuse. Compared to any normal home… it was a pile of refuse. The old farmhouse had been gutted by a fire sometime in the past and left uninhabited. Yet, half the building had been left uncharred and with their combined magics it was enough. The structure was reinforced to basic safety and the windows boarded over, making it lightless but warm. As he stepped into the farmhouse, though, Sigurd had to repress the urge to sneeze. Nothing could clear away all of the old soot.

Mentally shaking his head – what a terrible hovel – Sigurd carried the water to the makeshift kitchen. It was actually just plastic basins to hold water and wash dishes in, and a brand-new Number that was serving as a stove. Esme was currently trying to peek inside, a difficult task since she’d made it of stone.

“If only I’d had some glass.” Yes, a familiar plight. Sigurd carefully set the water aside – it had been knocked over before – and came to her side.

“It should be another ten minutes or so, I think,” Sigurd said before sniffing the air. Hmm, it smelled good but not quite what he would expect if it were done. As he waited patiently for the food to finish, Sigurd glanced through the door of the ‘kitchen’ to the other room they inhabited. A decent bed, stolen from the thrift store, and many warm blankets. A single wicker chair with an old cushion. That was all.

_It’s no worse than how the peasants lived, in my day and age._ Sigurd knew that. He’d lived that way himself as a child, sleeping on a tatty cot on an earthen floor, with plenty of blankets to ward off the chill. And yet… _By modern standards, it’s nearly uninhabitable._ Only desperation made it acceptable.

Unfortunately, desperate was what they were. Esme had money now, quite a good bit of it, but the modern era had all kinds of ridiculous things like _passports_ and _personal identification codes._ As a former King, Sigurd saw how useful such things could be. They would certainly make it easier to keep track of taxes! But they were damned annoying now, when he and Esme lacked then and Sigurd didn’t dare leave to try to fix the problem.

“Oh, it’s done!” Sigurd’s attention snapped back to the food as Esme withdrew it with a stone utensil and some fireproof mitts. The pizza that came out was absolutely perfect, the crust nicely crisp and the cheese seared and melted. “Oh, it looks so good!”

“Delicious,” Sigurd murmured as Esme carefully set the stone on top of the magical oven. Then she reached for the pizza cutter. A few quick rolls of the little metal wheel and the pizza was neatly separated. They had simple china plates and Sigurd took his share, smiling as he saw the pepperoni that was nestled within the gooey cheese.

They both settled onto the floor to enjoy their meal. To Sigurd, the pizza was really quite familiar. Toasted bread with melted cheese, with butter and fresh herbs, had been a marvelous meal when he’d been alive.  And cured meats were a common thing too, although they’d usually had that on the side. The only thing about the pizza that was entirely foreign was the sauce. Tomatoes had not been available when he’d lived.

“The only thing that could make this a bit better would be some salty fish.” Sigurd murmured. He thought that would go excellently well on the pizza.

“Oh, then you should buy some anchovies, you would like those,” Esme said and Sigurd smiled as he saw a slice of her share had already vanished. His princess was still a bit indifferent to food, but it was much better than it had been. “Sigurd, have I told you how happy I am?” She looked marvellously happy, her eyes glowing and her smile bright. Still, Sigurd felt a qualm.

“Despite the living conditions? We don’t even have a shower.” Sigurd took a mouthful of his pizza, wondering what she would say. Esme seemed to be adapting well to the circumstances and it honestly surprised him. That seemed to redirect her thoughts, though.

“Oh, I was thinking about making one!” Eh? “I’ve been designing a pump and scavenging the metal out of the ruined parts of the building for the piping!” Ah… really? “I think we should set it up outside, in an area with good drainage. I’ve been checking the soil and the contours of the land and I put up some stakes, I’ll show you later.” Sigurd thought this was what made Esme’s mind truly unique. When she was planning something, she thought of everything. Oh, she could make mistakes and miss something, but not very often. “And I was thinking of putting a special holding tank with a heating spell so we can have warm showers as well! I’ll need to make it so the hot water and cold water mix in a way controlled by the tap but I’m sure I can do it.” Well, he was sure she could as well. And Esme was absolutely glowing as she went on about her plans.

_This is why she’s so happy._ Sigurd had an epiphany, as he gazed into Esme’s smiling face. _Because she is making things, not for someone else, but for herself._ Esme was taking joy in solving all her problems with her Numbers, being self-sufficient and for Sigurd it was beautiful to see. _I am so honored to be part of this._

Then all pleasure vanished and Sigurd carefully set his pizza down as his wards twanged.

“Oh… that’s…?” Esme’s voice was suddenly soft again, almost inaudible and she set her half-eaten pizza down. Sigurd nodded, pulling himself to his feet and materializing his armor.

“I’ll take care of it.” Those were his outer wards, the intruders were still a decent distance away. But, not surprisingly, they had been found. Esme nodded, trusting him completely.

“You’re ready but I’ll keep watch,” she pledged and Sigurd nodded before heading out purposefully. It was time to teach the magi who dared intrude on their lands a lesson.

As Sigurd moved easily and soundlessly through the woods, he reflected on it. It was no surprise that the magi had found them. The critical fault in their wards, that could not be mended, was Esme herself. By longstanding tradition, the families of seal designates were not required to assist the Clock Tower in finding them. But Esme’s family were the ones after her and the blood tie could not be denied. It required powerful scrying spells, with Sigurd’s wards in place, but ultimately they would be penetrated.

Knowing that, Esme and Sigurd hadn’t bothered to move about in an effort to lose the pursuers. Instead, they had created their Territory, the mystical fortress that any Caster laid claim to. Sigurd glanced at a tree, feeling a deep satisfaction as he saw the rune carved in the trunk. The fools had given him over a week to settle in. Unless they’d brought multiple powerful Servants, they were doomed.

There was nothing like that. Sigurd stalked them carefully – he owned some forest lore, as well as his tarnkappa – and soon realized he was dealing with a small group of hired mercenaries. And some of the things they were saying…

“Remember boys, we’re required to rough her up a bit,” the one Sigurd had pegged as the leader said. His eyes narrowed and then one of the others spoke.

“How far can we take that?” Sigurd tensed. Did that mean…? From the disgusted look the leader shot to him, he thought it did.

“Not that far. Just beat her up a little.” Sigurd made a mental note to give the man the courtesy of a quick death. Although that was all he would grant them.

Sigurd didn’t bother to challenge them or give them any pretense of a fair fight. There was no point, not with merely mortal men. He made the tarnkappa vanish before tearing right through them. Sigurd killed all of them but one, who barely put up a fight before being overwhelmed.

“Wh-what… what…?” The mercenary was wide eyed as he looked at the imposing figure above him. Sigurd had no true interest in speaking to the man, though, so he traced a rune.

It was very easy. The man was just barely a magus and did not have a strong mind, unlike the leader that Sigurd had killed. He was certainly no match for a Caster on his own ground. Sigurd snared his mind with air runes and began asking questions. In a short time, Sigurd had what little information he man owned… which was not much at all, except for one interesting tidbit. The one who had commissioned them was not Esme’s father but rather, her brother. Her father was dead, a victim of the now masterless tower.

_I cannot tell my princess that._ Sigurd knew that with cold certainty. His kind hearted princess would not have meant to kill her kin, she just hadn’t been thinking. Or rather, she’d just been thinking of how they needed to take the tower away from them for safeties’ sake, not the likely consequences.

The only other useful thing he learned was that Esme was not a Sealing Designation yet. Her family had no idea how Esme had used the Grail or her true capabilities, and they thought of her as a helpless, unworldly little girl. Easy enough to take back.

_It will be weeks before the Clock Tower moves._ That was marvelous. By that time, the Territory would be a death trap to intruders. The only thing that worried Sigurd was the possibility that they might engage Chaldeas to send Servants, but there would be a few unsuccessful attempts before they resorted to that. That would give Esme time to create Numbers tailored to Servants.

Sigurd ended the man’s life with one quick thrust of his sword, feeling nothing at all as the man gurgled and died. He made Gram vanish – the easiest way to get rid of the blood – before considering the corpses. No, it was too much trouble to burn them and they did not deserve the honor. The forest animals could do for them. Abandoning the scene, Sigurd went back to the farmhouse.

He wasn’t surprised to see Esme picking at her pizza, her face pale and her gaze far away. Sigurd settled back in across from her, picking up his plate of food. It was cold now, what a shame. Well, it would still be delicious.

“Don’t worry princess. I won’t let them take you back,” Sigurd assured her before taking a bite of the food. Esme blinked before focusing on him.

“I know, I was just thinking.” About what? Sigurd might have asked but Esme continued. “Sigurd, can I go with you to the town the next time we go shopping?”

“Do you want more cookbooks?” Sigurd gently teased as Esme blushed. She had a huge collection of books now, piled in the corner of the sleeping room. A large number of them were cookbooks, since Esme took her duties seriously. “Of course you can come.” In a way, it did cause problems for him. This was a small village and Sigurd stood out. When Esme was with him, the attention seemed more negative. Sigurd sometimes wondered if they thought he was perhaps a kidnapper. Esme didn’t help, with her fear and fascination. Still, despite that, he would never deny her. His princess needed the human interaction if they ever hoped to overcome that.

“Oh thank you!” Esme’s smile was brilliant and he felt warmed by it. Then she was applying herself to her food again and Sigurd was very pleased to see it looked like she would finish it. Ah, things were improving, they truly were. And they would improve again if Esme could actually make them a shower. What else could she make? Sigurd wondered as he munched through the crunchy crust.

He would be delighted to find out.

* * *

 

_Sigurd walked through the cells, his stride as heavy as his heart._

**_I didn’t want it to come to this._ ** _He’d held out hope, until the very end, that the blood debt might be paid. Although the man himself had warned him, although the auguries he’d cast had all agreed, Sigurd had been unable to give up hope._

_Inside the cell, the man was sleeping as he always was. Sigurd paused at the door to regard him. A tall, lanky man in fine wool garb, clearly noble from the little gold stitching on the hems. It was dark brown and suited him very well, matching his hair and beard. The beard made Sigurd smile because his prisoner was clearly one of the men in the world who would be better off clean shaven. The beard was a terribly scraggly thing, thin and ill-trimmed. It had been well-trimmed before they’d taken him but prisoners were not given knives._

_Sigurd cleared his throat and that small sound made the war prisoner lazily open his eyes. They were light blue at the moment but Sigurd had observed them to change as the man’s emotions shifted. What color would they be soon, he wondered?_

_“Ah, you again,” the man sat up with a yawn, scratching himself beneath his rib. “Have you received a reply yet?” Sigurd swallowed as calm eyes met his._

_“I have,” Sigurd said heavily, feeling the weight of the news on his soul. “The messenger came back today. It’s as you said.” The man sighed and lifted himself from his cot, walking towards the door of the cell._

_“I knew it would be. My brother will inherit now, after all.” That wasn’t a good enough reason! “What will my fate be then?” He rested a hand in the bars of the cell and Sigurd swallowed before squaring his shoulders._

_“The priests have decreed that you be given to Odin as a sacrifice,” Sigurd said quietly and blue eyes shifted towards grey as the man’s expression became grim. “Although I did insist it be done by the common ritual.” Some of his men might have favored the blood eagle, for the horrible troubles this man had caused them. Yet to Sigurd, that punishment should be reserved for traitors and this man had never been that. No, a strong and clever enemy that deserved respect for his wit and skill, no matter how underhanded._

_“Ah, well. It cannot be helped,” the man said with a small sigh. “Please send my sword back to my wife.” For Sigurd, that was too much, particularly since he knew that woman was carrying a child…_

_“Perhaps I can – “ that was as far as he got before his arm was seized in one hand. Sigurd was caught by surprise and stared into stormy grey eyes. So much darker now, like the clouds before a powerful thunderstorm._

_“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it,” the man warned and Sigurd swallowed at the iron in his tone. “You cannot cheat the gods of their due. They are watching you, man with a Valkyrie bride.” Sigurd’s thoughts were unpleasantly reminded and he glanced around, looking for ravens. You never knew where they might be… “Dragon slayer or not, you’re still an uppity mortal to them. They might demand you take my place.” Sigurd knew he was right. That was exactly the sort of thing they might do. Odin favored him but the favor of the gods was like a candle in the wind. “You would also do a great disservice to your people. You cannot do that to do them.” That… was even more pressing, to Sigurd’s mind. The words grounded him, helping him to find his centre again._

_“Thank you,” Sigurd said with a small sigh and the man smiled before letting go of his arm. “I regret that we were born enemies.” What things could they have done together? The man laughed, a soft chuckle._

_“I regret that as well, but it is what it is. Good luck to you, son of Siglund.” A reminder of why they were enemies and Sigurd appreciated it. He left the dungeon feeling, not happy, but settled and resolute. Tomorrow, that man would die and Sigurd would mourn his passing but it simply had to be._

_It was hard, but it was also right._

* * *

 

Sigurd woke from his dream with a light start.

_Why am I dreaming of this now?_ Sigurd wondered as he stared into the darkness of the room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the nearly lightless conditions and he could make out the roof, with its’ bare wooden beams. _Ah. Yes, of course._ It was nothing he’d expected but Sigurd knew why this past was coming back.

Turning onto his side, Sigurd looked at the sleeping woman beside him. Esme’s face was a white oval in the darkness, her eyes closed and her face at peace. Her chest rose and fell slowly, a soft rhythm and Sigurd reached out, his hand hovering over her face but not daring to touch. Her hair was spread out across the pillow, a gentle tide in the darkness.

_Esme, my love, I am sorry for this._ Instead of touching her fair skin and perhaps waking her, Sigurd traced a rune. The basis of it was Air, but then he combined it with Life. Sigurd carefully adjusted the pattern, using the knowledge Esme had given him as well. That made the rune more precise and soon he was satisfied. Esme shifted slightly, disturbed by the soft blue glow… which faded to nothing as Sigurd released the rune. It drifted over Esme in tiny motes, doing one simple, harmless thing… erasing any memory she had of her dreams this night. _I cannot let you know this side of me._ Sigurd wanted his princess to remain innocent, believing in the purity of her prince.

Sigurd meant to remain in bed but he found it hard to sleep. He finally slipped out of bed, materializing his armor as he slipped out of the home. A quick check of the wards satisfied him that Esme was safe and Sigurd summoned Grani. He gently patted the horse, giving his faithful steed affection before mounting and riding through the woods. Grani picked easily through the forest, following a small deer trail. It would take them where they needed to go.

The place he was going was a great ash tree. It hadn’t been sacred to Odin and the old gods when he’d arrived, but Sigurd had fixed that, working the runes into the bark without harming the tree. Now it glowed with mystical energy and the leyline was actually moving, like a river pulled from its’ banks. It would settle beneath the roots of the ash tree, nourishing it and making it something much greater than it was now. And yet…

_The final sealing must be of blood._ Sigurd rested his hand against the trunk of the ash tree, feeling the fine grain of the bark beneath his palm. _And it must be a worthy sacrifice._ The men he’d killed so far had not been worthy. He needed a true leader of men, someone with great skill at arms, a man worthy of going to Valhalla. _The old gods may no longer exist but the power of the ritual remains._ This was ancestral magic, tied to the history of this land and Sigurd knew the sealing would work. When that was done, his mana source would be a great and mighty river.

As he stood beneath the ash tree Sigurd heard a rough caw. He lifted his head to see a dark bird flying away and felt a trickle of dark, primal dread. Shaking that away – Odin’s birds were dead and gone – he stepped away from the tree and called to Grani.

The woods were filled with omens tonight. It was time to go back to bed.


	13. Chapter 13

For Esme, going to town with Sigurd was always exhilarating.

_It’s so marvelous,_ Esme thought as she walked down the street, gazing around curiously at everything. It was just a small village, nothing like that huge city they had first arrived in. But that was good, she could examine things more easily without people stopping and asking if she was alright. Of course she was alright, she was just looking at something, what was wrong with that?

The grocery store, like all of the town, was full of marvelous sights for her. The first thing that always caught Esme’s attention were the tube lights in the ceiling. They were powered by _electricity,_ she knew that now, but how exactly did they work? Esme had broken a lightbulb and easily figured out the filaments but when she’d broken a tube, they were nothing but an empty tube. Did they work via a gas or was it the tube itself? How did they –

_Princess,_ Sigurd’s mental voice was full of mirth and Esme blushed, realizing she’d been staring at the tubes again. Oh, it was no wonder people thought she was strange! She quickly hurried to join Sigurd, who was looking back with a tiny smile on his face. “Did you want to get the produce, princess?”

“Oh, yes, certainly!” Esme took half the list with a smile before going to fetch a second basket. It would be faster this way and Sigurd was so efficient at shopping. Esme might have preferred to linger and read all the ingredient lists and try to figure out what they meant and how they worked, but Sigurd wanted to be in and out. _It’s probably better that way. People think I’m strange enough already,_ Esme thought, a touch sadly. It couldn’t be helped, she was strange even for a Magus, but it was still rather sad.

Esme quickly picked out the produce, calculating the prices and approximate weights as she did. Hmm, it was not that much, that was good. They should try to make the money stretch as much as possible since they couldn’t get jobs without ID. Unless they used magic to make people think they had identification but was that a good idea? And what kind of job could she do?

_If only I could sell my Numbers._ Esme shook her head at the thought. Her skill was worth a fortune but only to other magi. Carrying the basket she went to look for Sigurd and found him in the bakery, looking over the bread with a small frown.

“Ah, Esme. They seem to have no fresh bread today, only the factory sort. Perhaps we should go down to the bakery as well,” Sigurd said and Esme nodded.

“That sounds good, we need the crusty bread for the stew. Although, we could get a bag of the white as well for crispy cheese sandwiches.” Different breads served different purposes. Esme liked the factory made white bread for a proper grilled cheese sandwich. But for scooping up a stew, the lovely sourdough bread with the crust was perfect.

“Hmm, excellent point, and they do keep well.” Sigurd mused before snagging a bag and adding it to his basket. “You have everything, princess?”

“Yes, it should be about – “ Esme named the figure she’d come to in her mind. It wouldn’t be perfect, of course, since she hadn’t weighed everything but it would be close. Sigurd chuckled warmly and she blinked.

“Ah, it’s beautiful that you can do that in your head. I would need a pen and paper for that,” Sigurd said and Esme thought he was exaggerating. He could do math in his head when he tried, although not as complicated as she could, that was true.

They went to pay for the groceries and as they did, Esme was acutely conscious of the people around her. Everyone was looking at them and she sidled up to Sigurd, wishing they could just go unnoticed. But even when she was suppressing her… aura?... everyone noticed them no matter what.

_Calm down princess, you’re only making it worse,_ Sigurd murmured in her mind as he made polite chit-chat with the cashier as he paid. Esme swallowed, knowing it was true. But it was so hard… she slipped her hand into Sigurd’s and he gave her a comforting squeeze.

Then they took their purchases and left, to Esme’s relief. The bakery was only a short walk away but Esme’s attention was distracted by the building beside it. The large bay door had been closed the few times they’d come before but today it was open and inside there was a half-dismantled vehicle. Esme was captivated by the sight. Did she dare…?

“Sigurd, can I…?” Esme asked and he glanced over with a small frown. _Remember to call me Sam, princess._ Oh, she had forgotten! Esme felt a heat in her cheeks at that stupid mistake. Then he smiled at her. “If they’ll let you, go ahead. But look, don’t touch.” Ah, right.

“Thank you!” Esme said with a smile before carefully scooting through the open door, glancing around. No one here… she began to peer at the half-dismantled vehicle, trying to understand how it worked. Esme thought she’d already figured out the basic concept – moving part generating force – but how was it powered? What were all the pieces called and how did they work? There were so many pieces! Esme quickly became engrossed in the puzzle although she was careful not to touch.

“Um, miss? What are you doing?” Esme squeaked and jumped back, turning in surprise. A large, burly man with a thick beard was there, gazing at her with a quizzical expression through heavy glasses. In one hand he had a mug of coffee.

“I was just looking,” Esme said quickly, tempted to run out and back to the safety of her Servant. But her sense of curiosity kept her because… maybe this man could explain things to her? “…How does it work?” Esme asked tentatively, edging back towards the machine. He blinked at her in a bemused fashion.

“You want to know how a car works?” Yes, absolutely! “Well, little missy, it’s an internal combustion engine,” he said before taking a swig of his coffee, then setting it aside on a table. Then he went to the machine. “See, this part here is the engine…” Esme watched carefully as he cheerfully explained how the machine worked, noting words and functions. “This is the battery.” Battery? Esme knew that word, magi used it to refer to various methods of holding mana, from gemstones to living familiars. But that meant…?

“That battery holds electricity?” Esme guessed. Everything in the modern world seemed to run on electricity and Esme understood that it was like lightning, but harnessed and tamed. The man nodded. “How? How does it hold it?” Esme understood myriad ways to store mana. Some were more practical than others and some had different applications. She also understood, from painful experience, their limitations. The man looked a touch puzzled.

“Well, I don’t rightly know but I don’t think it holds it exactly,” he said, reaching up to scratch his hair. Esme stayed patient, waiting for him to find his thoughts. “It has stuff inside that sloshes together and makes electricity. Acid and base? I don’t know, I just know you have to be careful how you dispose of batteries and when they’re old they can leak.”

“I see,” Esme said slowly, her thoughts going to all the lights in town. Surely they couldn’t be powered by batteries? “Sir… how are the lights in town powered? All the machines plugged into the walls?” To Esme, batteries would not make sense. Unless physical ones were not limited like magical ones? But that seemed unlikely.

“Ah, most of the town is run on hydro-electric,” he said as he reached for a tool. Esme was still watching carefully, even as she listened. “There’s a dam down the river a ways, y’see.” Esme knew what a dam was but how did it make electricity?

“How does it work?” Esme asked, knowing she was becoming a bit of a pest. But oh, she so wanted to know! The man did his best, telling her about _turbines_ and Esme was able to imagine it in her mind. The water flowed out of the dam and moved the turbines, and the movement generated _electricity._ So physical movement could be translated to electricity… how did that work? Were the batteries involved? And could she translate this to magic? If the river was like a leyline, was it possible to dam a leyline? Esme was entranced by the thought. She’d never gone to the Clock Tower, never seen the marvels they had there, but she knew there was a great ley line nexus beneath it. Was that perhaps artificial? And what about magical engines? But what would she use for fuel –

“Esme?” Esme came out of her thoughts with a start to see Sigurd looking at her with the tiniest smile on his lips. He was carrying the groceries and his Numbers bubbled with amusement as Esme blushed. How long has she been standing there? Oh, how long had she been talking?!?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I kept you waiting.” She must have, had Sigurd been here and just watching her? Buying the bread would have taken very little time… then the mechanic spoke cheerfully.

“You have a very curious girl here. Is she your daughter?” Esme was speechless at the question. Did she look that young? …Did Sigurd look that old? From the way Sigurd’s eyes widened, he was caught off guard as well.

“Ah, no. She is my woman,” Sigurd said and the man frowned, glancing between them. Esme sensed a reserve coming into his posture, almost disapproval. “Come Esme, we should be going.”

“Right!” Esme followed Sigurd out, her mind going back to the problem of magic. Oh, it was so frustrating sometimes! A real magi, trained at the Clock Tower, would probably know the answers to questions she had to work out. A magical engine though… Well, mage circuits could be considered that. You ate food to maintain the body and that vitality powered the mage circuits. Was there a way to make an artificial one though? Or even a mana core, like Sigurd had?

Her mind buzzing with the possibilities, Esme barely paid attention to the town. She came out of her reverie, though, when they were far enough away for Sigurd to summon Grani. Esme gently petted the stallion’s soft nose with a smile before reaching into her bag and pulling out a carrot. The horse chomped down with gusto.

“Did you buy those just for him? He hardly needs it, princess,” Sigurd said but he gently patted Grani’s shoulder. Esme smiled at her prince, still feeding the horse.

“No, but we should show our appreciation.” Grani was so incredibly useful. Without him, they would have had a terribly long walk in and out of town. And sometimes, when they were sure not to be unobserved, Sigurd used his great speed.

Now was not one of those times. They trotted down the road, cars occasionally passing and Esme gradually began to feel a bit morose. _I just don’t know enough._ There was probably a way to manipulate ley lines to form artificial nexuses, but she simply didn’t know how. Her parents hadn’t trained her properly and at her families’ manor, then the tower, Esme had never been able to experiment. _It’s so frustrating._ Knowing that the answers to her questions already existed, yet were completely out of reach.

They reached the ruined farmhouse and Esme wasn’t paying attention to Sigurd at all, still caught up in her thoughts as she slid down from the horse. That changed abruptly as her Servant caught her in his arms.

“Esme, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” Sigurd murmured as he held her close and Esme blinked. Her feelings…? “I would marry you if I could, my beloved princess.”

“Sigurd,” Esme murmured, returning his hug. He felt so solid and warm, his body so close and she could see the sadness, the pain in his Numbers. “It’s fine if you don’t, I don’t need that. I just need you.” She poured all her feelings for him, the warmth and love held in her heart, into their connection. Sigurd’s arms tightened around her, just a bit.

“Oh Esme…” Sigurd lifted one hand to her cheek before drawing her into a kiss. The passion in it took Esme’s breath away, making her libido stir. When the kiss ended, though, Sigurd gave her a quizzical look. “I think I’ve misunderstood. What is troubling you?” Oh, Sigurd had thought she was bothered by what he’d said to that man?

“The only thing that bothered me about that was when he asked if I was your daughter. I don’t look that young, do I?” Esme asked and Sigurd chuckled softly, a warm sound. “What’s really bothering me, though, is how ignorant I am.” That really was incredibly vexing. “Sigurd, is there a way to move the ley lines? Create magical ‘dams’ to enhance the power of a nexus?” Esme thought it was logical that such things would exist. Sigurd reached up to adjust his glasses.

“Ah, yes, that is possible.” Did he know how?!? Although Esme knew that whatever magecraft Sigurd used for that would be utterly unlike the modern era. “I’ve been doing it myself.” He had?!? “Would you like to see, princess?” Sigurd offered with a smile and Esme was electrified. “We could walk, it’s rather pleasant.”

“Oh yes!” A nice walk through the woods with a prize at the end of it? That would be marvelous! Sigurd smiled, just a bit and Esme saw the pleasure in his numbers.

It was a very nice walk through the woods. The sun was bright overhead but the trees offered shade as they followed the deer trail. Esme’s gown caught a bit on the bushes and she handled that by gathering the skirt in one arm, holding it as she scampered up the trail. Her shoes were no problem at all, they were lovely new sneakers. The dresses were fine, Esme loved them in fact, but the sneakers were wonderfully practical. They arrived in a natural clearing, a beautiful little meadow with a large tree to one side. Esme’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at it.

“Oh…!” Esme stared, entranced, at the Numbers of the tree. It reminded her of the Root and all the beautiful runes she could find there. “Sigurd, you’ve turned a tree into a Number,” Esme murmured as she saw the way the mana flowed. The tree was like a stationary Number, acting as an anchor to a great ley line nexus that was forming beneath. Esme walked up to the tree in a dream and gently rested her hand on the bark as she stared at the runes. They had been worked into the living bark and they were so complicated! Esme began working them out, trying to understand. Every rune was heavily modified and interacted with the others to transform the tree into something much greater…

“You have such a unique mind, my darling Esme,” Sigurd said and Esme blinked, pulled out of her thoughts to look at him in surprise. He smiled at her as he rested a hand on the bark. “I don’t understand any of this. I only memorized it, the great ritual to make a sacred tree.” Esme could see the edge of sadness, the longing for days long past, in his numbers. “My lovely Bryn made me learn it, in case I would need it, but neither of us understood how it worked. That was Odin’s knowledge… but you can understand it, can’t you?”

“I…” Esme looked at the Numbers of the tree again. “It will take me a while but yes, I can learn it.” Not just the route pattern but the way it functioned. And she had already noticed something about it. “Sigurd… it’s beautiful, but it feels… not quite done?” Esme could tell, from a combination of instinct and knowledge, that the Number wasn’t quite complete.

“Ah, yes, there’s a final ritual that needs to be completed at a particular time,” Sigurd said easily and Esme blinked, feeling a bit… funny. Dizzy and lightheaded. The feeling passed and she shook her head. “I will get it done, princess. We should go back.”

“Ah, yes, we should. I need to make lunch.” Her stomach grumbled in agreement and as they walked down the path Esme pondered what she should make. As she did, though, she felt something odd in her connection with Sigurd. Regret? “Sigurd, is something wrong?” Esme turned back to look at him… he was lagging behind… and saw that edge of regret in him, reflected in his numbers. Sigurd shook his head.

“No, everything is fine princess. Just thoughts of the past,” Sigurd lied. Esme knew it was a lie, seeing the subtle twisted to his numbers that indicated deception. Combined with that regret… was Sigurd unhappy that they couldn’t get married? Esme felt warmed by the thought that he _wanted_ to marry her. Just that was so incredible!

“Sigurd, I love you so much,” Esme said impulsively and saw his eyes widen in surprise. “Let’s hurry home so I can make you something wonderful!” She would show her love with the most amazing grilled cheese sandwich she could make! They’d gotten some fresh herbs too, she would put them on the cheese before she toasted it. Sigurd blinked before chuckling, a soft warm sound and Esme could see his mood lifting.

“That would be wonderful princess. I’m so glad to see you enjoying food.” Oh, that was so like Sigurd to think of her and not himself! Although it was true, Esme was enjoying eating more now… the food tasted better when she made it herself. Humming happily, Esme skipped down the deer path, being careful not to trip or catch her dress on any of the twigs. Her legs weren’t as lucky but Esme didn’t care, it was just a few scratches. Oh, she felt so marvelous!

It never crossed her mind to wonder if Sigurd might be lying to her on a much greater level than a simple untruth.


	14. Chapter 14

_Humming happily to herself, Esme skipped barefoot down the dirt path that led into the Root._

**_It’s been so long!_ ** _Before the Grail War, Esme had visited the Root all the time, just to relax and feel comforted. She’d had no idea that was unusual until Sigurd had told her… apparently, even Magicians feared being swallowed by Akasha and rarely contacted it again after the first time. **I’m not sure why I’m not afraid, but I’m not.** Esme knew exactly what she could and could not touch._

_Since the Grail War, though, Esme had been busy doing so many other things. The desire to come to the Root, though, had overwhelmed her today. So now she was here, deep in the World, feeling the warm dirt beneath her toes and marveling at the magical wonderland that was the Root._

_There were multiple tunnels, various paths in the Root and Esme found, to her surprise, that they were different than usual. Unconcerned, she picked a path at random to go explore. Leaving the Root was never a problem, Esme just had to want to go and the path outwards would be behind her._

_“Oh!” Esme stopped dead as she saw the tunnel before her widen into a much larger space. That was VERY new, she had never seen anything like that before… moving more carefully, Esme ventured into the cathedral-like cavern. “Oh,” Esme breathed, her eyes wide as she beheld what was within._

_It was a library. Yet, it was completely unlike anything made by human hands. The walls of the cavern were full of living roots, shaped into bookshelves and holding countless volumes, more than Esme could count. More shelves filled the inside of the cavern although Esme noted that the roots holding them changed into real roots halfway up, no longer holding books. They reached the ceiling and became part of it, like great pillars holding this room up._

_Esme walked through the cavern, looking curiously at the books. There were no names on the spines… hovering a hand over one slim volume, Esme concentrated on the feeling. No hint of threat. Obeying her instincts, she plucked the book free from its’ place. It was black and thin, almost the size of a magazine. As she looked at it more closely Esme found that was oddly hazy and unreal, difficult to perceive… she had to squint but finally the words on the cover resolved themselves._

**_Jack the Ripper._ ** _Esme blinked at the book. Who was that? Feeling a bit of danger, she didn’t open the book, but set it back in its place. Then she picked up another. This one was bound in red and gold and had ornate gold writing on the cover, clearly stating the name of the book. **William Shakespeare.**_

_“What are these…?” Esme murmured as she kept picking up books. They ranged from the tiniest of slips to great tomes that were heavy to lift. **Mozart. Kiyohime. Gilgamesh.** “Are all of these people?” She knew Shakespeare, she’d read his books. Mozart was a composer. Who was Kiyohime? Who was Gilgamesh?_

_Then Esme had a book nearly leap off the shelf into her hand._

_“Oh…” It was a book bound in blue leather. Esme ran her fingers over it, finding it was soft and supple. There was embossing on the leather in the shape of silver snowflakes. **Sigurd.** And there was a companion book on the shelf, bound in the same blue leather. Feeling breathless, Esme reached to pull it out. It had the same snowflakes. **Brynhildr.**_

_“Is this the Throne of Heroes?” Esme murmured as she stared at the two books in her hands. They both felt so right together. “Did binding Sigurd to Akasha show me the way?” Her connection to the Root was instinctive. It was plausible that accessing the Throne via the Grail had given her a path to access it. And… “Is this part of my Magic too?” Making the Imaginary into the Real… what were all these books if not Imaginary things that could easily become Real?_

_Esme dearly wanted to read the book titled **Sigurd.** She wanted to know all the details of his life, all the history behind him, even the things he couldn’t recall. But even as she felt the desire she had second thoughts. This book would contain all that Sigurd was, the sadness and pain and secrets he would not want revealed to anyone. Was it right to read someone else’s entire life like a book?_

_“I can’t,” Esme murmured, running a hand over the soft leather. “…” Yet, she felt like the book belonged with her? “Do you want to come with me?” Esme asked the book. Logically, it made no sense – Sigurd was already summoned – yet, the book felt warm under her hands. “…” Deciding to trust her instincts, Esme accepted the book of **Sigurd.** For a moment she gazed at the book of **Brynhildr** before carefully putting it back. It was sad to part the two volumes, but they couldn’t be together right now. Maybe someday, in some far off place, there could be a reunion but not right now._

_Feeling deeply accomplished, Esme left the Throne with book in hand. She didn’t see the space behind her wobbling a bit and the book immediately being replaced with a new one, identical to the first._

_It didn’t matter how many times a Servant was summoned, they were always still within the Throne of Heroes._

* * *

 

For Sigurd, matters that evening went rather oddly.

Esme was immersed in something, muttering to herself as she drew on paper after paper with deep intensity. She was working on the floor of their ‘bedroom’ and as Sigurd peered through the door, he saw her swipe away several discarded papers in irritation. One of them floated close to the door and he reached out to snag it, lifting and examining it in the light of Crystallized Wisdom.

_This rune?_ Sigurd felt a deep chill as he took in the intricate design and the extensive modifications. He knew this rune. Brynhildr had taught it to him and also taught him the few ways she thought it should be used. Esme was going far beyond that. _Why is she trying to modify time?_ Because that was what this rune governed, the ebb and flow of time…

“Esme, princess, is this safe?” Sigurd asked, letting the paper slip from his fingers. For a moment he was afraid Esme wouldn’t answer, too caught up in her designing. But then she did, answering absently as she continued to work.

“Yes, I know what I’m doing.” …Sigurd wanted to believe that, he truly did, but he didn’t think he would have trusted Odin himself with this kind of magic. “This is the rune I used to make the tower let go of me.” Oh… was it? Sigurd swallowed at the thought. “And the good thing is that I don’t have enough power to really mess it up.” Eh? “This rune is more dangerous the stronger you are and my mage circuits are rather weak.” Ah… that was true, wasn’t it? Sigurd had a great deal of raw power and Brynhildr had known that. “I used this rune all the time when I was a child too…” Oh dear gods. “Every time I broke a plate or a vase so I wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“I see.” Sigurd felt bemused and a little horrified at the information. Yet, he could see a young prodigy doing just that sort of thing. Turn back time just enough to stop the breaking of a plate. “Would you like me to make supper, princess?” Normally that was Esme’s duty but Sigurd knew how the stove-Number worked. He could handle it if she’d been hit with a fit of inspiration.

“If you could… I need to get this out before I forget…” Yes, he’d thought as much. Smiling to himself, Sigurd went to Esme’s newest Number, a magical fridge. Hmm, they had pork sausage. What could he do with that? Celery and carrots caught his eye and Sigurd had an idea. But did they have the other ingredients? A quick check of the cans and dried ingredients confirmed they did. Yes, that was what he would make!

Sigurd quickly and expertly chopped up an onion and garlic before putting them in the pot. Celery and carrots followed, then a diced up tomato, followed by the sausage. Then water and a bouillon cube, to give it flavor and after it got to a boil, some noodles and beans. Hmm, was he supposed to add some herbs as well? A bit of dried oregano joined the pot.

_An excellent soup._ It was already smelling good, he would just wait for the noodles to soften. And was Esme done? Venturing back to the bedroom Sigurd saw she was staring at a chunk of silver with a single minded, intense stare. As he watched the silver warped, respond to Esme’s desires and shifting to become what she wished.

“Esme? Supper will be done soon,” Sigurd called softly, not wanting to break her concentration. She nodded.

“I’ll find a good place… to stop…” Her voice was strained with effort and Sigurd was reminded that making her Numbers, particularly the very complicated, powerful ones, was difficult for her. Nodding, he left her to it. It shouldn’t take her long to finish. As he brought out the bowls, though, Sigurd frowned to himself. A Number that could distort time… how was Esme powering it?

_The great limitation is raw power._ Even in his own day, that had been true. To make something incredible like Gram, materials of the highest caliber, with virtue of their own, had to be used. The fragments of his father’s sword had been made from steel touched by the faerie realm. _Mere silver cannot bear such an effect._ Perhaps Esme meant her new Number to be single use? The destruction of the structure could garner more power.

When Esme came out of the bedroom, Sigurd was alarmed at the sight of her. Sweat dewed her forehead and stained her hair and as he watched, she stumbled. Acting instinctively, Sigurd moved with Servant speed to gently catch her before she could fall.

“Oh… thank you…” Esme murmured as Sigurd took her weight easily.

“Are you alright princess?” Sigurd asked in concern, checking his connection with her. Only the tiniest trickle of mana connected them at the moment. It didn’t matter to him – his connection to the tree was strong – but it showed how exhausted Esme was.

“I’m fine really. I probably should have waited to start the actual construction until tomorrow but I want to finish it quickly.” Esme reached up to push back a bit of sweaty hair before shaking her head. “I’m fine really.” Sigurd doubted that, but her troubles could easily be fixed with a bit of food and rest.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. As they sat down to supper Sigurd kept an eye on Esme and to his dismay, he soon realized she wasn’t really eating. She was bringing the spoon to her lips and taking the tiniest of sips, but nothing that would nourish her. And this was much different from what he’d seen before… in the tower, Esme had been distracted by her thoughts and uninterested in the food. This time, Esme was exhausted to the point of sickness. Was this what her Numbers truly cost her?

_I never saw this because she couldn’t afford to exhaust herself so in the middle of a Grail War._ Sigurd frowned as he considered what to do. _Everything she made then was less intensive._ The Number of binding, the flash grenades, even his heart guard, were all lesser Numbers than what she was making now. What was she making? Sigurd wanted to ask but now wasn’t the time.

Briefly, Sigurd considered putting Esme on his lap and spoon feeding her. But that was a thought born of frustration and Sigurd knew it was a terrible idea, she wasn’t a child and he was a Servant, not her father. Hmm… it was a low tactic, but…

“Esme, is there anything wrong with the soup?” Sigurd asked and Esme looked at him, startled. “I made it just for you.” Sigurd allowed a bit of disappointment to color his tone. “Could you please at least try it, for me?” Guilting her might be a dirty tactic but it was effective, as Esme blushed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Esme took a real mouthful then, to Sigurd’s relief. Eating was still a struggle for her, she even paused once to heave, but she managed to keep it down. “It’s a wonderful soup, it really is.” Esme assured him and Sigurd felt a bit of guilt of his own, using this strategy. But it truly was for her good, she needed to eat.

“Thank you, I’m glad you like it. But what are you making?” Sigurd asked curiously. Manipulating time was still a terrifying concept, even if Esme was sure she could do it right.

“Well… Sigurd, you know I visited the Root today.” Yes, she’d warned him she would be ‘gone’. It was a very strange feeling, their connection growing so wispy and tenuous as Esme left the World but it had still been enough to anchor him. “I found something new… there’s a library there now.” Eh? “It’s the Throne of Heroes. I think using the Grail to access it showed me the way.” Sigurd was enthralled at the thought, immediately seeing the implications. Making the Imaginary into the Real was practically the definition of summoning!

“Esme, can you summon other heroic spirits?” Sigurd asked even as he considered the downside… Esme couldn’t support them. Only her link to Akasha made it possible for her to support Sigurd, even on a limited level.

“Yes, and I might in the future, but only the ones like you who can support themselves.” Ah! Other magic users could certainly do that. Sigurd could easily give them access to the tree, once it was complete. “That’s a project for the future though, maybe… but Sigurd, when I was there, I found your book.” Sigurd blinked. His book? “The book that held everything you are… I didn’t read it! But I took it with me when I left because it felt like I should. And when I left the Root, it turned into a lump of silver.” Wait, the material she was using for her Number had come from the Root?! “It’s not really silver, I’m not sure what it is, but it’s an incredible material so I had to make something worthy of it.”

“Ah,” Sigurd murmured, stunned by the revelation. With a material of that caliber, Esme’s Number would work. “What is it meant to do?” Esme smiled at him, setting down her bowl of soup. She’d almost finished it and was looking much better, Sigurd absently noted.

“It’s going to be a ring for you. It will give you a second chance.” Esme reached up adjust her barettes before continuing. “If you die, or I die, the ring will shift back time just a bit to give you a chance to fix what went wrong. You’ll remember exactly what happened… No one else will, but I think they’ll have a weird feeling of déjà vu.” It sounded excellent but Sigurd frowned at the thought.

“Do you think I’ll need that, Esme?” Sigurd couldn’t help but have mixed feelings. It seemed to lack faith in his abilities. Esme looked at him solemnly.

“Everyone can make mistakes. And remember, it will give you a second chance if I’m the one die,” Esme said softly and Sigurd’s gaze dropped to his soup. Ah, it was true, despite her beautiful power and her mystic codes, Esme was only a girl. “I just want to give us every advantage I can.” That made Sigurd feel better. It was how he’d fought his own battles as a living man, making sure there was every advantage in place before he’d made his move.

“Of course, you’re right. Well, that’s an amazing thing! But you don’t have to kill yourself making it, Esme. We won’t need it for a while,” Sigurd said easily and she looked doubtful so he hastened to reassure her. “The next attack will surely be Enforcers. They don’t know about me yet.” The mercenaries her family had hired had been rather pathetic. They would likely assume that Esme had defeated them herself, with her mystic codes. “Other Servants will be a last resort.” Because that would mean dealing with Chaldeas. Responding to his need, the Grail had given him information on the political situation and Sigurd knew the Clock Tower and Chaldeas had rather strained relations. The owners of Shiva would make them pay through the nose for help. Esme was a bit reassured by that.

“You’re right. Still, I want to get it done before the week is out,” Esme said firmly and Sigurd nodded, finishing the last bit of his soup. As he did, he reflected on it… he would never tell Esme but he was looking forward to the next attack. All that was left to finish his tree was the final sacrifice and with a bit of luck and preparation, Esme would never have to know.

Odin’s bloody sacrifices were not something to taint her soul with.

* * *

 

The next attack was not a real danger but it was far more serious than the first.

A strike force of ten Enforcers, all of them capable and armed to the teeth, breached the wards. It was cleverly done and they no doubt thought themselves undiscovered, but they did not know about the Territory Sigurd had created. Esme’s wards were penetrated but the Territory detected them and alerted her Servant.

“I will go alone. There is no need for you to come, princess,” Sigurd said, touching her cheek with a small smile and Esme nodded.

“Yes, I understand. You’re wearing the ring?” Not that they would likely need it but… Sigurd lifted his hand and dematerialized his gauntlet, showing the silver for a moment. Esme had worked it into the shape of a dragon, biting its’ own tail. On her own hand was a matching band but smaller and more feminine. “Thank you. Be safe!” For a moment, Esme wished she could come. But she would only be in the way, with her lack of any real combat ability and no enemy Servants to face. Strange, that the greatest powers, that other humans could never face, were nothing to her, while humans were her bane.

“Don’t worry Esme, it will all be over soon,” Sigurd promised before leaving the house. Esme went to the scrying tool, intending to watch him. It would be bloody and terrible, to be sure, but she would not turn away from that. And if things became dire, she could use the Number she had implanted on him to cast spells. Even if it was very unlikely she would be needed, Esme would watch over her prince.

Esme watched the thing unfold, feeling a bit of sadness in her heart. It was a blustery, unpleasant day that seemed to suit the mood of the thing, as Sigurd started with a sneak attack. His daggers picked off two Enforcers before the rest were even able to react. Then the battle was joined in earnest. Esme watched raptly, feeling an odd excitement stirring in her chest as she watched Sigurd fighting so beautifully. It was easier to feel excited when she wasn’t also terrified for him…

It was bloody though. Bloody and ugly and Esme almost blamed her sudden feeling of dizziness on that. But something wasn’t quite right. Esme rubbed her forehead before looking into the crystal ball. Sigurd was dispatching the last of the Enforcers and now gathering their bodies for a funeral pyre. But something wasn’t… quite right?

_Sigurd? Is everything fine?_ Esme asked, unable to quantify exactly what was wrong.

_Everything is just fine princess. Don’t worry about anything,_ Sigurd’s voice was so soothing that it was entrancing. Esme dreamily let go of the crystal ball –

_Don’t._ Esme blinked as another voice, scarcely more than a whisper, touched her thoughts. _Don’t let him make the same mistake again. He shields the ones he loves the most and he means well but it’s the mistake he makes over and over again because he doesn’t think it’s a mistake._

“…Lancer?” Esme whispered. “Brynhildr?” Had that been…? But wait, shielding her? What could Sigurd be shielding her from? From… the true outcome of the battle?

Acting on a hunch, Esme lifted her ball from the holder and gazed directly at the bottom. Removed from its’ stand and with her attention directly on it, the rune that had been planted there became clear. Esme’s breath caught in her throat as she analyzed the rune. It was based on Wind and meant to be illusory but drawing the inspiration for the illusion from the viewers mind…

_Sigurd has been tricking me._ Esme felt a churning in her gut and suddenly understood why the Caster card was somewhat feared. _I didn’t suspect a thing._ But what would Sigurd be hiding from her? Wait… could it be…?

Acting on a combination of instinct and knowledge, Esme sprang to her feet and rushed out of the house. Light rain pelted her as she ran through the woods, taking the familiar deer trail that Sigurd had shown her. Branches caught on her skirt as if they were trying to slow her but Esme shook them off, ignoring the lines of red they left on her legs. What mattered was Sigurd and what he was doing at the tree.

Esme nearly tripped and fell as she came to the clearing, catching herself on a tree. As she did she saw exactly what she had feared… a man hanging from the branches of the tree, dying but not dead. He died even as she watched, as Sigurd ran him through with a wooden spear. Esme felt the energy of the death link to the tree and saw the pattern of power shift, ever so slightly, like a key turning in a lock. Swallowing hard, she let go of the tree and stepped into the clearing. Esme’s foot landed on a twig and Sigurd turned at the sound. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he saw her.

“Esme…” Sigurd’s voice sounded strangled and Esme could see a terrible twisting in his numbers. Fear. Apprehension. Blame, directed at himself. _She will hate me._ The feeling was so strong it was nearly a thought and Esme wanted to hug him and tell him it was fine but… that would be a lie and _lies_ were the problem here.

“Sigurd, you’ve been tricking me.” Esme stared at him, seeing her Servant going pale at the accusation. “All those times I’ve felt dizzy… you’ve been manipulating me.” How had he been doing it? Sigurd had a deep connection to her and as Caster, he’d been exploiting it. Not something he could have done as Saber. “And even worse is the reason behind it. Do you think I’m too weak to know what’s happening?” Esme asked him reproachfully, feeling deeply disappointed in her Servant. She didn’t hide the feeling from him and Sigurd paled further. “Do you think I’m not fit to be your Master?”

“No! No, of course not, that’s not why I did this at all! Esme, you shouldn’t have to bear this,” Sigurd said and Esme remembered that voice in her mind again, clear as a bell. _He shields the ones he loves._ “This is – is something I have done in life, when I paid Odin his dues. There’s no need for you to give up your innocence.” …Innocence…

“Sigurd, I’m not as pure as you think. I’ve killed someone,” Esme said softly, feeling a deep swelling of sorrow in her heart. She’d avoided thinking about it, knowing that it couldn’t be changed, but she still knew. “When I took the Tower away from my family, I knew exactly what that would mean.” Sigurd was staring at her and Esme felt his surprise, saw it in his numbers. “I knew and I accepted it, since we couldn’t leave it in their hands… but which of them died? Was it my father, or my brother?” It wouldn’t have been her mother, she hated the Tower and avoided it as much as possible.

“Esme…” Sigurd was there then, in front of her and his hands landed gently on her shoulders. Esme could feel the cold ridges of his gauntlets, wet from the rain. “It was your father. I’m sorry,” Sigurd murmured before pulling her close. He was wet all over, not just his hands, but Esme didn’t care, hugging him back. He needed this closeness as much as she did.

“That’s… good. I blamed him more than my brother,” Esme murmured, feeling Sigurd’s arms tightening around her. Esme could tell he disagreed, but he said nothing, just holding her. “Sigurd, I don’t want to be a helpless princess anymore. I want to be your partner, not your burden.” Esme nuzzled his chest, feeling the warm solidity of her Servant, such a contrast to the beautiful mana that made up his Numbers. “Please, let me?” She couldn’t do that if Sigurd was protecting her.

“Of course,” Sigurd murmured, resting his cheek against her hair. Esme could feel his warm breath against her ear. “I’m so sorry Esme. Please, forgive me my deceptions.” Esme could tell Sigurd truly understood that what he’d done was wrong. And yet.

“I’ll forgive it once, but not a second time, not like this. There has to be trust between partners,” Esme said firmly. She didn’t want to, Esme wanted to hold and comfort Sigurd, but he had to understand the seriousness of this. “If you do this again, I will not forgive you.” She would banish him back to the Throne, even if it ripped her heart in two.

“I… understand.” Sigurd sounded lost and forlorn and Esme gave into her urges, letting comfort and forgiveness flow down their link. She hated being stern with him, she truly did and Esme let that feeling reach him as well. Comfort flowed back along the same link, bringing them together in a shared moment of empathy.

What interrupted that moment was the rain, which was becoming heavier. Raindrops splattered thick as Esme pulled back, shivering as she felt it soaking through her hair, dripping down her neck and into her already damp dress.

“Esme, you must go back. I will take care of this,” Sigurd said firmly and Esme thought about protesting but then she shivered, unable to stop herself. The cold and wet were seeping into her bones. Still.

“The body doesn’t need to stay here, does it? You’re going to bury it?” A pyre wouldn’t burn well in this rain, although perhaps Sigurd could make it work with runes. And just from what Esme could tell, the corpse didn’t need to remain. It wasn’t part of the trees’ Numbers, to her relief. That would have been difficult to accept. Sigurd nodded, expressionless, and Esme accepted it. “I’ll go back.” And she had a plan for that.

Leaving Sigurd to his grisly task, Esme went back down the deer track. By the time she made it back, the rain had become very heavy and she was completely soaked, her dress offering no protection at all against the wind and rain. As soon as Esme was back in the house she stripped off her clothing before whispering spells, using minor magics to dry and warm herself. She was still cold so Esme activated a Number, something new she’d made for the winter. Tied to the leyline for mana, it acted like a hearth and soon blessed warmth was flooding into the room.

Her own comfort seen to, Esme began preparing a snack for Sigurd’s return. It was late, but she could quickly toast some bread with butter, cheese and fresh herbs. That was among Sigurd’s favorite things and Esme wanted to give him tangible proof that she still cared.

The cheese was just beginning to bubble when Sigurd came back. He was sopping wet, even more than she had been, and Esme looked up as he dematerialized his armor and clothing. For a moment Esme was dazzled by the sight of his wet, naked body. He was so handsome, particularly in the dim light of the lamps, making the water sparkle and his body almost glow. Then Sigurd was tracing runes and murmuring softly, drying and warming himself and Esme turned her attention back to the food. She wanted the cheese to be just right, a little browned but not burnt.

 “Esme, that smells wonderful,” Sigurd murmured as she pulled it out of the oven-Number. Esme looked up with a smile and saw that Sigurd was looking a bit down, his Numbers flat and unhappy.

“It’s your favorite, the fontina cheese and the fresh herbs, with plenty of butter,” Esme said before sliding a thick slice onto a plate. Fontina was so perfect for this, creamy and stretchy but mild enough to not detract from the herbs. Sigurd accepted the food with a small smile.

“Thank you.” Esme kept an eye on him as they ate and was pleased to see Sigurd’s Numbers brightening, gaining energy as he took in the food. She although thought he understood the unspoken message… that she still cared for him, very much. When the snack was done they both settled into bed to sleep, cuddling and sharing body heat beneath the warm, heavy blankets. The seasons were changing and it was starting to get cold… as Esme drifted off, she felt a deep sense of contentment.

They’d had a bump in their relationship but they would get past it and become stronger together.


End file.
